


Deadpool

by rorz94



Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe, Bottom Zayn, Crime, Criminal minds vibe, Louis Has a Crush, M/M, Murder, Reporter Gigi, Rich Harry, Rich Zayn, Romance, Serial Killer, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Smut, Title is deadpool not related to the comics, Top Liam, Violence, What else did I miss, Zayn writes a deadpool, Zayn-centric, detective liam, it goes wrong, there will be smut, ziam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2018-12-03 07:58:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 104,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11527950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rorz94/pseuds/rorz94
Summary: Zayn Malik, a multi-millionaire good doer/artist, is targeted by a lunatic serial killer for no reason. Enter hot charismatic detective Liam Payne in the investigation of his case. Payne is assigned to protect Mr.Malik as a punishment from his supervisor but Liam does not think it's such a bad punishment to stay close to the attractive young man.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> First: I MISS YOU ALL  
> Second: I MISS ZIAM <3  
> Third: I'm shit at summaries  
> Fourth: I'm sorry about not writing an epilogue for a pirate's love for me...but I may someday...depends on the mood.  
> Fifth: I'll be more active, Promise & thank you for all the lovely comments they make me smile, Love you all.  
> Disclaimer: This plot is taken from Julie Garwood's Murder List so plot is hers, and also OC.  
> I do not own or know any of the members of 1D or Zayn Malik or Gigi Hadid  
> This is a work of fiction in an alternate universe where Zayn is Harry's and Niall's half brother so it's just made for FUN.  
> Imagine that they are like the UK version of the kardashians in a way... minus the sex videos  
> I made this just because I can't find good Ziam fics these days...if you know good recent fics please recommend some in the comments.

The first day of kindergarten at the exclusive Hampshire school in London was the worst day of Zayn Malik Styles' life.

It was such a disaster, that Zayn made up his mind to never go back there again, but some things just don't go as one wishes.

The boy had started out the day believing that his first day at school would be wonderful.  He's been told by his mother and his older brothers that and he had no reason to doubt them. Seated in the back of his family's limo for the ride to his new school, he proudly wore his new school uniform, a navy blue and grey shorts, a white shirt with mandatory pointed collar, a navy blue tie, just like older men and a matching grey blazer that got the school's crest and initials on the breast pocket. His shiny black hair was perfectly combed and on top of his head rested the school's hat that accompanied the uniform, which Zayn internally loathed but had to put on anyway. Everything he wore was brand new, without the exception of his white knee high socks and navy blue loafers.

Zayn had thought that school would be fun. For the past two years, he and nine of his classmates at his posh preschool had been pampered and told how wonderful they were by teachers who never lost their smiles. So he fully expected his first day at the new school to be about the same, sunshine and rainbows, and maybe even better.

His mother was supposed to ride with him to the new school, just like all the other parents of new students did, but due to circumstances she assured him she couldn’t control, his mother had to stay in Los Angeles with her new boyfriend and couldn’t get back to London in time. Grandmother Styles would have been happy to go with him, but she, too, was out of the country, visiting friends, and wouldn’t be home for two more weeks.

When Zayn had spoken to his mother over the phone the day before, he told her he didn't need Mrs Tyler, the housekeeper, to take him to school. His mother had then suggested Harry to take him. Zayn knew that if he had asked his older brother, he would have done it. He was fifteen and wouldn't like going with him, a five year old, but he would have.... if Zayn had asked. He would do anything for him, he knew just like his other brothers, Niall and Danny.

Zayn decided he didn’t need anyone to walk him to his classroom. He was a big boy now. He can do stuff all by himself. The uniform he wore proved it, and if he got lost, he would simply ask for help from one of the smiling teachers.

School, as it turned out, wasn’t at all what he had imagined. No one had told him kindergarten lasted all day. He hadn’t been warned about the huge number of children attending the school, either, and he certainly hadn’t been warned about the bullies. They were everywhere. But he was most concerned about one older boy in particular who liked to torment kindergartners when the teachers weren’t looking.

By the time the school bell rang to dismiss the students at three o’clock that afternoon, Zayn was so distressed and worn out he had to bite his lower lip to keep it from wobbling into a pout and to keep from crying. 

 _Big boys don't cry!_ He kept on repeating under his breath.

There were cars and limos lined up in the circular drive. Paul, his driver, got out of the car and started toward him.  
  
Zayn spotted him but was too tired to run to him, so the man hurried toward him, alarmed at his appearance. His hat was clutched between his fingers, his hair was in disarray; his necktie was undone; his shirt-tail was out, and one of his knee-high socks was down around his ankle .The five-year-old looked as if he’d gone through a tornado. Paul opened the back door for him as he inquired, “Everything all right, Zayn?”

Head down the boy responded, “Yes.”

“How was school today?”

He rushed into the car. “I don’t want to talk about _it_.” he snapped. So Paul knew not to disturb him again.

That specific question was asked again by the housekeeper when she opened the front door for him. “I don’t want to talk about it,” Zayn repeated strictly.

The housekeeper took his book bag.

“Thank you,” Zayn said, he might be mad and frustrated but he would not forget his manners. He ran up the circular staircase and down the south hallway to his bedroom, slammed the door shut, and promptly burst into tears.

  
Zayn knew he was a disappointment to his mother because even though he tried, he couldn’t keep his emotions under control. If he fell and scraped his knee and it stung, he just had to cry, no matter where he was or who was around to observe his behaviour. He could not stay still in one place also, and that frustrated everyone.

 

When he was unhappy, he broke all the rules his mother had tried to teach him. Zayn had been told time and again to be like boys, but he wasn’t sure what that entailed, except, of course, to keep himself presentable, be respectful to the ladies and most importantly not cry, especially in public.

He didn’t like to suffer in silence, no matter how golden that rule was in the Styles household. He didn’t particularly care about being brave either, and if he was miserable, then the whole world-his family included-needed to hear all about it.

 

Unfortunately, the only family member home at that moment was Harry. He was the least sympathetic, probably because he was the oldest, and couldn’t be bothered with the worries of a five-year-old.

Harry hated it when he cried, but that didn’t stop Zayn.

The little boy blew his nose, washed his face, and changed his clothes. After he removed his despicable uniform, he carefully folded it and then dropped it into the wastebasket. Since he wasn’t going back to that terrible school, he wouldn’t need those ugly clothes ever again. He put on shorts with a matching top and broke another rule by running barefoot down the hall to his eldest brother’s room.

 

He shyly knocked on the door. “Could I come in?”  
  
He didn’t wait for an answer but opened the door, ran across the room to his brother's bed, and jumped up on the soft comforter he always tossed on the floor when he slept. Folding his legs underneath him, Zayn pulled on his hair trying to comb it with his fingers but it was all in vain.

 

Harry looked irritated. Dressed in his football clothes, he was sitting at his desk, surrounded by textbooks. Zayn didn’t notice he was on the phone until he said good-bye and hung up.

“You’re supposed to wait until I say it’s okay for you to come in my room,” he said in his deep voice. “You don’t just barge in.” Then, when Zayn remained silent, Harry leaned back in his chair, studied his face, and asked, “Have you been crying?”

The little brother thought about it and decided to break another rule. He lied. “No,” he said, his gaze glued to the floor.

Harry knew he wasn’t telling the truth but decided not to press the honesty issue now. His little brother was clearly distraught. “Is something wrong?” he asked, knowing full well there was.

Zayn wouldn’t look him in the eye. “Nooo …” he said, drawing the word out.

He let out a loud sigh. “I don’t have time to guess what the problem is, Zayn. I’m going to have to leave for practice in a couple of minutes. Tell me what’s wrong.”

He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “Nothing’s wrong. Honest.”

He was making circles with his fingertips on top of the comforter. Harry gave up trying to find out what was worrying him, for Zayn was always worried about something, his younger brother had a thing for dramatics. He bent down and put on his shoes. He suddenly remembered that today was Zayn's first day at school and casually asked, “How was school?”

He was totally unprepared for his response. The youngster burst into tears and threw himself down, burying his face in his comforter and conveniently wiping his eyes and nose on his duvet. Zayn told him everything he’d been saving up since recess. The problem was, Harry didn't make any sense from what Zayn was saying under his sobs.

It all came out in one long, rambling, barely coherent, sentence. “I hate school and I’m never going back, not ever, ’cause they didn’t let us have snacks and I had to sit still for too long and there was this boy and the other big boy made him cry and the big boy said if we told teacher, he’d get us too and I didn’t know what to do so I went by the building with the boy at recess and I helped him cry and now I’m never going back to that bad school again ’cause tomorrow the big boy said he was going to get the boy again.”

Harry was astonished. Zayn was wailing in all the energy he had left. Had he not been so miserable, Harry would have laughed. Such drama. He got that trait from his late father’s side of the family. They wore their emotions on their sleeves. He, Danny and Niall fortunately took after the styles side despite the fact that they all had different fathers. They were far more reserved.

Zayn was making so much noise that Harry didn’t hear the knock on the door. Danny and Niall came rushing inside. Both brothers were tall, lanky, and brown haired like Harry. Niall was thirteen, and of the three brothers, he had the softest heart. Danny had just turned twelve. He was the daredevil in the family and the most reckless. He looked as if he’d been through a war. His arms and face were covered with bruises. Two days before, he’d climbed up on the roof to retrieve a football, had lost his footing, and surely would have broken his neck if he hadn’t grabbed hold of a tree branch to slow his descent. His friend Ryan hadn’t been as fortunate. Danny landed on him and broke his arm. Ryan had been the junior winger but now would have to sit out the season. Danny didn’t feel much guilt about the accident. He blamed the mishap on the branch that had trapped Ryan making it impossible for him to get out of Danny’s way.

Danny now was looking for bruises on Zayn. None were visible, so why then was he crying? “What’d you do to him?” he asked Harry.

“I didn’t do anything,” Harry answered.

“Then what’s wrong with him?” Danny asked. He leaned over the bed and inspected his little brother, unsure what to do.

Niall nudged him out of his way, sat down next to Zayn, and began to awkwardly pat his shoulders.

He was finally calming down. Harry let out another loud sigh. Maybe the storm was over. He finished tying his shoes as he said, “There, he’s feeling better. Just don’t ask him about…”

“So how was school?” Niall asked at the same time.

“…school,” Harry finished.

The wailing started all over again. Harry ran his finger through his long curls, lowered his head and turned toward the desk so his brother wouldn’t see him smile. He didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but man, was he loud. Considering his size, the noise he made was downright impressive.

“He had a bad day,” he told his brothers.

“You don't say!” Niall responded.

Zayn stopped crying long enough to say, “I’m not  _ever_  going back there.” 

“What happened?” Danny asked.

Zayn recited his list of complaints in between his sobs.

“You have to go back,” Niall said.

It was the wrong thing to say. “ _No_ , I don’t.” Zayn retorted with a hard scowl on his face.

“Yes, you do,” Niall said.

“Daddy wouldn’t make me go.” The young boy retorted with a pout.

“How do you know what he would do? He died when you were still a baby. You can’t possibly remember him.”

“Yes, I can. I remember him good.”

“Your grammar is appalling,” Harry remarked rubbing his nose.

“Which is why you need to go to school,” Niall pointed out. He had to raise his voice to be heard because his brother was once again crying.

“Fu- man he’s loud,” Harry muttered. He shook his head and added, “Okay. I’m going to be late for practice if I don’t leave soon, so let’s get to the bottom of this. Zayn, stop wiping your nose on my sheets and sit up.” he ordered in a stern voice.

Neither his order nor his tone made any difference to the little dude. He wasn’t going to stop crying until he was good and ready.

“Listen, Zayn. You need to calm down and tell us what happened,” Danny said. “What exactly did the big kid do?”

Niall dug into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled Kleenex. “Here,” he said. “Wipe your nose and sit up. Come on. We can’t fix this problem for you until we know exactly what the big kid did, okay?”

Harry was shaking his head. “Zayn’s going to fix the problem,” he said.

He bolted upright. “No, I’m not, ’cause I’m not going back to that bad school.”

“Running away isn’t the answer,” Harry said, trying to reason with a five year old was tiring.

“I don’t care. I’m staying home.”

“Hold on, H. If some big bully is picking on our brother, then by God, we ought to …” Niall began.

Harry raised his hand for silence. “Let’s get all the facts straight before we do anything, Ni. Now, Zayn,” he said, his voice soothing, “how old was this big boy?”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay. Do you know what grade he’s in?”

“How would he know that?” Danny asked. “Zayn’s just a kindergartner.”

“I do too know,” Zayn said. “He’s in second grade, and his name’s Mitchel, and he’s mean.”

“We’ve established that he’s mean,” Harry said impatiently. He checked the time before continuing. “So now we’re getting somewhere.”

Niall and Danny were both smiling. Fortunately, Zayn didn’t see.

“You said that the second grader made another boy cry?” Harry asked.

Zayn nodded. “He made him cry, all right.”

“What did he do to make him cry?” Niall asked. “Did he hit him?”

“No.”

“Then what?” Now Niall sounded as frustrated as Harry did.  
  
Tears welled up in Zayn’s eyes again. “He made the boy give him his hat.”  
  
“Was the boy in kindergarten?” Harry asked.

 

Zayn nodded.

“He’s a very nice boy too. He sits beside me at the round table. His name’s Louis, like the brand Louis Vuitton, but he said everybody called him Lou and I should call him Lou too.”

“Do you like this Louis?” Danny asked.  
  
“Yes,” he said. “And there’s a girl I like too. Her name’s Gigi, and she sits at the same table with me and Louis.”

“There you go,” Harry said. “You’ve only been at the new school for one day, and you’ve already made two new friends.”

Believing the trauma was over, he grabbed his car keys and headed for the door. Niall stopped him. “Wait a minute, H. You can’t leave until we figure out what to do about the bully.”

Harry paused at the door. “You’ve got to be kidding. The bully is a second grader.”

“We still need to do something to protect Zayn,” he insisted.

“Like what?” Harry demanded. “You think maybe all three of us should go to school tomorrow and terrorize the kid?”

Zayn perked up. “That’d be good,” he said. “Make him leave Louis and Gigi and me alone.”

“Or,” Harry said, “You could handle the problem on your own. You could stand up to the bully. Tell him you aren’t going to give him anything and to leave you and your friends alone.”

“I want the first one.” Zayn insisted.

Harry blinked. “The first one?”

"The one where you, Dan and Ni come to school with me and scare him away. That's the one I choose. You could stay all day with me if you want.” Zayn said looking hopeful.

“This isn’t a multiple choice …” Harry began.

“Hold on. Didn’t you say the bully … what’s his name?” Niall asked.

“Mitchel.”

“Okay. Didn’t you say that Mitchel was going to torment Louis again tomorrow?”

Zayn sniffed, and his hazel eyes widened.

“So why are you worried? He’s not coming after you,” Niall said.

Zayn looked so serious. “Because he’s my friend, Niall.”

Harry smiled. “How do you think he’ll feel if you don’t show up tomorrow?”

“Lou isn’t going back to that school either. We agreed on it.”

“Yeah, well, I’m pretty sure his parents will make him go,” Harry said. “You know, Zayn, there are two kinds of people in the world. Those who run from bullies and those who face them.”  
  
The young boy wiped the tears away from his face. “What kind am I?”  
  
“You’re half a Styles. You face trouble. You don’t run from anyone."

 

He didn’t like hearing that but knew from the set of his brother’s jaw that he wasn’t going to change his mind, no matter how much he argued. He at least felt better because he had shared his fears.  
  
The next morning when Mrs. Tyler was fixing his hair, he thought about not wearing the hat, but he wore it anyway, just in case Lou needed one.  
  
By the time he arrived at School, he felt nauseous. He spotted Lou waiting by the school doors.  
  
“I thought you weren’t coming back to this school,” Zayn said when he reached him.  
  
“Mom made me,” Louis answered dejectedly.  
  
“My brother made me.”

 

Gigi called out to them. She had just gotten out of her car and was struggling to get her book bag straps over her shoulders.  
  
When she saw Louis and Zayn together, she ran to them, her long golden hair flying out behind her. Zayn thought Gigi looked just like a princess. Her hair was silk and golden, and her eyes were the prettiest shade of blue-green.  
  
“I know what we can do,” Gigi announced the second she’d caught up with them. “We can hide behind the fifth graders on the jungle gym during recess, and then, Zayn, you can sneak up on Mitchel and get Lou’s hat back.”  
  
“How would I get the hat back?” Zayn asked.

 

“I don’t know, but maybe you can think of something.”  
  
“Daddy says I have to tell the teacher about Mitchel, but I’m not going to,” Lou said. He ran his fingers into his light brown hair and added, “Telling will only make Mitchel madder.”  
  
Zayn was suddenly feeling very adult. “We have to tell him to leave us alone. Harry said so.”  
  
“Who’s Harry?” Gigi asked.  
  
“My brother.”  
  
“But Mitchel’s only bothering me” Lou said. “Not you or Gigi. You should run and hide from him.”  
  
“You could hide with us,” Gigi suggested.

 

“Teacher will make us go outside for recess,” Louis said. “Mitchel will find me then.”  
  
“We’ll stay together and when he tries to make you give him things and tries to scare you, we’ll tell him to go away. Maybe because there’s three of us, we could scare him good.”  
  
“Maybe,” Lou allowed, but his voice lacked enthusiasm, and Zayn knew he didn’t really believe it.  
  
“By recess I can come up with a good plan,” Gigi said.  
  
She sounded so sure of herself, so confident. Zayn wished he could be more like Gigi. His new friend didn’t seem to fret about anything. Zayn, on the other hand, was a worrier. And obviously so was Louis. The two of them worried all morning about Mitchel.  
  
It was lightly raining outside so they had their first recess in their room, but by lunchtime and general recess, when the kindergartners mingled with the rest of the school, it was sunny, and they were forced to go to the playground.

 

Too late, Zayn realized he shouldn’t have eaten lunch. The milk in his stomach was rapidly turning sour, and he felt as though he’d swallowed a rock.

Mitchel was waiting for them by the swing sets reserved for the kindergarten and first grade. Fortunately, Gigi had her new plan in mind.

“As soon as Mitchel sees Lou and starts walking over to him, I’ll run inside school and get Mrs. Grant.”

“Are you going to tell teacher what Mitchel’s doing to Lou?”

“No.”

“How come?” Zayn asked.

“I don’t want people to call me a snitch. My dad says being a snitch is the worst thing you can be.”  
  
“Then what are you going to do?” Zayn asked. He was watching Mitchel out of the corner of his eye. So far, the bully hadn’t spotted them.  
  
“I don’t know yet what I’ll tell teacher, but I’ll get her to come outside, and then I’ll get her to get close enough to hear Mitchel scare Lou.”  
  
“Gigi, you’re so smart,” Louis said.  
  
It was a great plan, Zayn thought. Gigi disappeared inside the school just as Mitchel, looking every bit like the giant troll Zayn compared him to, he came stomping toward them.  
  
The two small boys took an involuntary step back. The bully stepped forward. Zayn frantically looked for Gigi and Mrs. Grant but couldn’t find either one of them. He was terrified. He stared at Mitchel’s feet, thinking they looked as big as Harry’s, and then timidly looked up into his beady, brown eyes. He felt nauseated.  
  
Now Zayn had two horrible worries. Suffering Mitchel’s wrath, and puking in front of the entire school, which was worse in his opinion.

 

The bully put his hand out, palm up, and glared at Louis. “Give me your allowance,” he said, wiggling his fingers. Louis immediately reached to his pocket to give him whatever money he had in his pocket, but Zayn grabbed his hand and stopped him.

“No,” he said as he stepped in front of Louis. “You leave him alone.”

It was the bravest thing he had ever done, and he felt faint and giddy and sick all at the same time. Bile was burning a path up into his throat, and he couldn’t quite swallow, but he didn’t care how sick he was feeling. He was being brave, and he couldn’t wait to tell Harry all about it.

Mitchel poked him in the chest. Zayn staggered back and almost fell down, but he swiftly straightened himself and defiantly rooted his feet on the ground.  “You leave Louis alone,” he repeated. The bile in his throat made his voice weak, and so he swallowed hard and then shouted the order again.

Uh-oh. His stomach lurched, and he knew he was never going to make it to the boys’ restroom in time.

“Okay,” Mitchel said. He took another threatening step forward and poked Zayn again. “Then you give me something.”

Zayn’s gurgling stomach was happy to accommodate. Needless to say what was the present he gave Mitchel that day, but afterwards Mitchel hadn't dared approaching them or bothering them again.


	2. Chapter One

**Eighteen Years Later**

 

Zayn Malik-Styles had spent three miserable days and nights surrounded by sleazebags. They seemed to be everywhere—in the airports, at the hotel, and on the streets of Rome as well. A sleazebag, as he defined him, was a lecherous but rich old man -a cradle robber- with a mistress less than half his age -a gold digger- hanging on his arm.

 

Zayn had never really paid any attention to such couples before his stepfather, Simon, married Cindy, his child bride. Zayn understood the appeal. Cindy had the body of a stripper. She also had the IQ of a fly. And that made her perfect for him.

 

Fortunately for Zayn, the deliriously happy and definitely dysfunctional couple stayed on in Rome while he flew home to London. Exhausted from his tiring flight, he went to bed early and slept a full eight hours thinking that tomorrow would be a better day.

 

He was absolutely wrong.

He opened his eyes at six in the morning to the searing feeling of pain in his left ankle. He had banged it on his dresser the night before and hadn’t taken the time to ice it. The pain was nearly unbearable. Throwing his covers back, he sat up and rubbed it until the throbbing subsided.

 

His bad ankle was the result of an injury he suffered in a charity football game. He had been playing defence and was doing a fair job until one of the strikers of the opposite team decided to kick his ankle instead of the ball and that lead to him tearing a cartilage. The orthopaedic surgeon he’d consulted advised surgery and assured him he’d be back in action in just a few days, but Zayn kept putting the thing off. Deep down he had a fear of everything that had to do with hospitals.

 

He swung his feet off the bed and leaned forward to stand, cautiously putting his weight on the sore foot. Zayn had a love/hate relationship with his city, London. He loved the galleries museums, thought the shopping in it was every bit as wonderful as in any place in the world- an opinion to which his two best friends vehemently disagreed with-, and he really liked how the people are becoming more helpful. However, the weather in his city really depressed him. The sky was mostly shrouded by grey clouds that constantly blocked any sunshine there was.

 

Zayn had a full busy day ahead of him but all he wanted to do was to crawl back under the covers of his warm comfortable bed. It was good to be home.

Home for Zayn was Styles London International, one of the five star hotels chain owned and operated by his family. It was located in a fashionable tower in the heart of the city. The hotel boasted a reputation of elegance, sophistication and comfort. For the time being, he was satisfied with his living arrangements. He had everything he needed at the hotel. The corporate offices were there, and so his work was conveniently an elevator ride away and his workshop was attached to his suite. Besides, he had known most of the staff his entire life and thought of them as family.

 

As much as he wanted to give in to the desire of just going back to bed and sleep, he shook the sleep out and went to the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth. He then got ready for his morning run, he put on a pair of grey jogs and a white tank top, fixed his hair a little and took the lift up to the eighteenth floor to run his three kilometres (two miles) on the new, indoor track. 

 

By seven-thirty he was back in his room and had showered, dressed, and eaten his standard breakfast of buttered toast, scrambled eggs and hot tea.

 

Zayn had just sat down at the desk in the parlour suite to go over his notes when his phone rang.

It was his best friend Louis calling to check in. 

“How was Rome?

  
“Okay.”

  
“Was your stepfather there?”

  
“Yeah, he was.”

  
“So how could the trip have been okay? Come on, Zee. You’re talking to me.”

  
Zayn sighed. “It was awful,” he admitted. “Just awful.”  
  
“I take it step daddy had his new bride with him?”  
  
“Oh, yes, she was there and please don't call him step daddy.”  
  
“Is she still hanging out of everything Escada?”  
  
Zayn smiled. Lou did have a way of making the most horrid situations amusing. He knew what his friend was doing, trying to lighten the mood. It worked too. “Not Escada,” he corrected. “Versace. And yes, she’s still spilling out of everything Versace.”  
  
Louis snorted. “I can just picture it. Were your brothers there?”  
  
“Harry was, of course. The hotel in Rome was his pet project, and he was his usually serious self. I don’t think I’ve seen him smile in years. Guess that goes with being the oldest.”  
  
“What about Danny and Niall?”  
  
“Niall had to stay in Dublin. Some last-minute problems developed with the design for the new hotel. Danny was there, but only for the reception. He wanted to rest up before the race.”  
  
“So did you speak to him?” Louis inquired referring to Danny.  
  
“Yes, I did.”  
  
“Good for you. You’ve finally forgiven him then, haven’t you?”  
  
“I guess I have. He was only doing what he thought was right. Time has given me some perspective, as you predicted, so go ahead and gloat. Besides, I’d feel terrible if he used up all of his lives before I let him know I’d forgiven him. He wrecked another car last month,” he added.  
  
“And walked away without a scratch on him, right?”  
  
“That’s right.”  
  
“It’s good you aren’t mad at him anymore.”  
  
“I just wish he wouldn’t jump the gun the way he does. He’s so impulsive. I have a couple of dates with a guy, and he’s hiring people to investigate him.”  
  
“Excuse me. You had more than a couple of dates with Dennis.”

 

Zayn rolled his eyes.

“Yes, well …”  
  
“At least you didn’t let him break your heart. I know for a fact you didn’t love him.”  
  
“How did you know?”  
  
“When you broke up, you didn’t shed a tear. Face it, Zay-Zay, you almost cry at Puppy and kitty commercials. If you didn’t cry over Dennis, your heart wasn’t really in it. And just for the record, I’m thrilled you dumped him. He was all wrong for you.”

 

“At the time I didn’t think he was all wrong. I thought he was close to perfect. We had so much in common. He loved the theatre, music and art, and he didn’t mind attending all those fund-raisers. I thought we had the same values—”  
  
“But that wasn’t the real Dennis, was it? He was after your money, Zayn, and you’ve got too much going for you to put up with that nonsense. Besides, you need someone that would make your toes curl, Dennis was all boooring!”  
  
“Toes curl? Nah, you aren’t going to give me another pep talk about how pretty and smart I am, are you?”  
  
“No, I don’t have time to do the pep talk now. I’ve got to get back to the lab before one of my students blows it up. I’m calling to make sure you got home okay and to ask if you want to have dinner tonight. I’m starting diet tomorrow.”

  
“I wish I could, but I’m swamped with work. I’m going to be playing catch-up for a week,” he said.

 

 

“Okay, then plan on Friday, and I’ll start the diet on Saturday. We both need to have some fun,” Lou protested. “Last week was awful for me. Monday one of the kids dropped a box of supplies, and every one of the new beakers broke. Then Tuesday I found out my budget for next year has been cut in half. In half,” he stressed. “Oh, and on Wednesday Gigi called and asked me to do an errand for her, and that turned out to be pretty awful too.”  
  
“What was the errand?” Zayn asked out of curiosity, knowing Gigi he knew he would not like the answer.  
  
“She made me go to the police station to check on something.”  
  
“What something?”  
  
“You’ll have to wait to hear the gory details. G made me promise not to say anything. She wants to explain it to you.”  
  
“She’s cooking up another scheme, isn’t she?” Zayn asked pinching the bridge of his nose.  
  
“Maybe,” he answered. “Uh-oh. One of my students is frantically waving to me. Gotta go.” He hung up before Zayn could say another word.  
  
Five minutes later Gigi called. She didn’t waste time on niceties and went straight to the subject.

 

“I need a favour. A big one.”  
  
“Rome was fine. Thank you for asking. What kind of favour?”  
  
“Say yes first.”  
  
Zayn laughed. “I haven’t fallen for that ploy since kindergarten.”  
  
“Then meet me for lunch. Not today,” she hurried to add. “I know you’re probably busy with work, and I’ve got two meetings back to back I can’t miss. Maybe we could do it tomorrow or the day after. I’ll need a couple of hours.”  
  
“A couple of hours for lunch? “Zayn wondered.  
  
“Lunch and a favour,” she corrected. “We could meet at The Palms, say twelve-thirty on Friday. Lou's through at noon, and he could join us. Can you do Friday?”  
  
“I’m not sure I can.” He answered slowly.  
  
“I really need your help.”  
  
She sounded pitiful. Zayn knew it was deliberate manipulation, but he decided to let her get away with it.  
  
“If it’s that important …,” he began.  
  
“It is.” she insisted.  
  
“Okay, I’ll make it work.”  
  
“I knew I could count on you. Oh, by the way, I checked with Henry to make sure your calendar was clear next weekend, and I asked him to reserve the weekend for me.”  
  
“For the entire weekend? Gigi, what’s going on?”  
  
“I’ll explain it to you at lunch, and you’ll have a whole week to think about it.”

 

“I can’t…”  
  
“I loved the picture in the newspaper. You looked smoking hot.”  
  
“G, I want to know…”  
  
“I’ve got to get going. I’ll see you Friday at twelve-thirty at The Palms.”  
  
Zayn wanted to argue, but it was pointless since Gigi had already hung up the phone. He checked the time, then grabbed his I-pad and rushed out the door. Paul Greenway, a senior staff member and a dear friend, was waiting in the lobby. Zayn had known Paul since he was a teenager. He’d worked as his intern during the summer months of his early years in high school, and for those three months he’d been madly in love with him. Paul had known about his infatuation—he’d been ridiculously obvious about what his mother called a bad crush—but the guy was very sweet about it. He was married now to his long term boyfriend with three children of his own who ran him ragged, yet he always had a ready smile for him. Paul’s hair was greying at the temples and he wore bottle-thick glasses, but Zayn still thought he was extremely handsome. He was holding what looked like a five-hundred-page printout in his arms.  
  
“Good morning, Paul. Looks like you’ve got your hands full.”

“Good morning,” he replied. “Actually, these are for you.”

“Oh?” he took a step back.

Paul grinned. “Sorry, but about an hour ago I got an e-mail from your brother Harry.”

“Yes?” he asked when he hesitated.

“He was wondering why he hasn’t heard from you.”

He tried to hand the stack of papers to him. Zayn took another step back and smiled. “What exactly does Harry want to hear?”

“Your opinion of his report.”

“He wrote all that? When in heaven’s name did he have time to write a five-hundred-page report?”

“Two hundred and ten pages,” he corrected.

“Okay." Zayn said with half a smile." When did he have time to write a two-hundred-and-ten-page report?”

“You know your brother doesn’t sleep.”

Or have a life, he thought but didn’t dare say because it would have been disloyal. “Apparently not,” he said. “What kind of report is it?”

Paul smiled. Zayn was looking at the pages as though he expected a jack-in-the-box to jump out at him. “Harry’s plans for expansion,” he said. “He needs to know what you think before he can go forward. All the numbers are there. Danny and Niall have already gotten on board.”

“Bet they didn’t have to read the bloody thing.” Zayn said resentful.

“Actually, no, they didn’t.”

Zayn could see the guilty look on his face as he transferred the pages into his arms. He balanced his pad on top.

“Harry didn’t even mention this when we were in Rome. He now thinks I should have already read it?” he asked incredulous.

“There’s obviously been a mix-up. This is the second time I’ve had to have the pages printed for you. The first copy seems to have disappeared. I gave it to Kevin,” he said, referring to Harry’s assistant. “He insists he gave it to Henry to pass on to you.”

“If he had given the report to Henry, he would have given it to me.”

Paul was always diplomatic. “It’s a puzzle, but I don’t believe either one of us should waste time or energy trying to figure it out.”

“Yes, right. A puzzle.” Zayn couldn’t keep the irritation out of his voice. “We both know that Kevin…”

He didn’t let him continue. “We shouldn’t speculate. However, your brother is waiting to hear from you, hopefully by noon today.”

“Noon?” his eyes widened at the thought.

“He told me to tell you not to worry about the time difference.”

“Okay. I’ll read it this morning.” he said between gritted teeth.

Paul's smile indicated he was pleased with his decision. “If you have any questions, I’ll be in my office until eleven. Then I’m on my way to Miami.”

He was walking away when he called out, “You knew I’d cave, didn’t you?”

The men's laughter was his answer. Zayn checked the time, groaned, and then straightened his shoulders and headed to his office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a slow built story bear with me ;)


	3. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Description of murder/violence.  
> This chapter is essential to the plot.

The demon awakened again.

The man wasn’t surprised or alarmed. The beast always began to stir at the end of the day when his mind wasn’t consumed with his job, and his body so desperately needed to relax.  
  
For a long time, nearly a full year, the demon had hidden from him, and he hadn’t known it was there. And so he’d naively believed that he was having panic attacks, or spells, as he liked to think of them, because that somehow made them less threatening. They started with a yearning deep in his belly. It wasn’t altogether unpleasant. Until anxiety would come over, horrific anxiety that would make his skin crawl and his lungs burn with the need to scream and scream and scream, and in desperation he would think about taking one of his special pills the doctor had prescribed, but he never did take anything, not even an aspirin, for fear the medication would weaken him.  
  
He believed he was a good man. He paid his taxes and held down a full-time job. It was a stressful job, requiring his full concentration, and there wasn’t time to think or worry about the heavy burden waiting for him at home. He didn’t mind the long hours. In fact, there were times he was grateful for them. He never ran from his responsibilities in his professional or his personal life. He took care of his invalid husband, Noah. At his insistence they had moved close to London for a new start after the accident. He’d found employment within two weeks of his arrival and had felt that was a good omen. It was a hectic but joyful time. He and Noah decided to use a small portion of the settlement money to purchase a spacious story-and-a-half house on the outskirts of the city, and once they were unpacked, he spent the summer evenings putting in ramps and modifying the first floor so that Noah wouldn’t have any trouble getting around in his new wheelchair. Noah’s legs had been mangled in the accident, and he would, of course, never walk again. He accepted what fate had dealt them and moved forward. He was relieved when his husband slowly regained his strength and learned to do for himself during the day.  
  
When he was home, he insisted on pampering him. He prepared their dinner every night and did the dishes, then spent the rest of the evening with him watching their favourite television shows.  
  
They’d been married five years, and in all that time their love hadn’t diminished. If anything, the terrible accident had removed any possibility of their falling into complacency or taking each other for granted. And no wonder. His sweet, gentle Noah had died on that operating table, and then, with what seemed to be a miracle, had come back to him. The surgeons had worked through the night to save him. When he heard the news that he would recover, he got down on his knees and vowed to spend the rest of his life making him happy.  
  
He lived a rich, full life … with one little exception.  
  
Awareness of the demon hadn’t been gradual. No, enlightenment had come all at once.  
  
It was the middle of the night. He hadn’t been able to sleep, and rather than toss and turn and possibly wake Noah, he went to the kitchen on the opposite end of the house and paced about. He thought a glass of warm milk might help calm his jitters and make him sleepy, but it really didn’t do much good. He was putting the empty glass in the sink when it slipped out of his hand and shattered in the basin. The sound seemed to reverberate throughout the house. He rushed to the bedroom door and stood outside, waiting and listening. The noise hadn’t awakened his partner, and he felt a moment of relief as he walked back to the kitchen.  
  
His anxiety was building. Was he losing his mind? No, no. He was having one of his spells. That was all. And this one wasn’t so terrible. He could handle it.  
  
The newspaper was on the counter where he’d left it. He picked it up and carried it to the table. He decided he would read every single page, or until he was so sleepy he couldn’t keep his eyes open.  
  
He started with the sports section, read every word, and then moved on to the metropolitan news. He scanned an article about the dedication of a new park and jogging path, spread the paper wide and immediately saw the photo of a beautiful young man standing in front of a group of older men. He was posed with scissors ready to cut a ribbon draped from one stake to another across the path. And he was smiling at him.  
  
He couldn’t take his eyes off him.  
  
He was reading the names under the photo when it happened. He suddenly felt a crushing tightness, and he couldn’t catch his breath. A jolt very much like lightning raced through his heart causing excruciating pain. Was he having a heart attack, or was it another panic attack?  
  
Try to calm down, he told himself. Just calm down. Take deep breaths.  
  
What was happening to him?  
  
He tore at his hair and whimpered, but the terror was taunting him now. Then, he suddenly realized he no longer had control over his own body. He couldn’t even make himself breathe.  
  
With startling clarity he saw and understood. Someone else was breathing for him.  
  
He awakened the following morning curled up in the foetal position on the kitchen floor. Had he fainted? He thought maybe he had. He staggered to his feet and braced his hands on the island to steady himself. Closing his eyes, he took several deep breaths and slowly straightened.

He spotted the scissors on top of the folded newspaper. Had he placed them there? He couldn’t remember. He put the scissors back in the drawer where they belonged and picked up the newspaper to throw it into the recycle bin in the garage. He saw the clipping from the newspaper then. Both the article and the photo of the smiling man were there in the centre of his table, waiting for him. He knew who had placed them there. And he knew why.  
  
The demon wanted him chanting a mantra of an eye for an eye.  
  
He buried his face in his hands and wept.  
  
He knew that he must find another way to placate the beast. Physical activity seemed to help. He went to the gym and began to work out like a man obsessed. One of his favourite routines was to put on boxing gloves and pound the bag as hard as he could for as long as he could. He would lose track of time and stop only when he couldn’t raise his arms without suffering unbearable pain.  
  
For days he’d kept his body in the state of perpetual exhaustion. Then, even that wasn’t enough.  
  
Time was running out. The demon was consuming him. Ironically, it was his husband who gave him the idea. One evening, while he kept him company as he did the dishes, he suggested that he should have a night out. A night, he insisted, when he could enjoy himself and have some fun with his friends.  
  
He put up quite an argument. There were already too many nights when he had to be away from him because of pressing commitments at work. And what about all the time he left to go running or to work out at the gym? Surely that was enough alone time.  
  
Noah was more stubborn than he was and wouldn’t stop persuading him. He finally agreed, only to make him happy.  
  
And so, tonight would be his first night out. He could already feel the adrenaline pumping. He was as nervous and excited as he had been when he had gone on his first date.

 

Before leaving home, he told Noah he would be heading into the city after work to meet some friends at Sully’s, a popular bar and grill, but he wasn’t to worry; if he had more than one drink, he wouldn’t drive home. He’d take a Taxi.  
  
All of it was a lie.  
  
No, he wasn’t going to the city to relax. He was going there to hunt.

 

***

 

The murder was a mistake!

He stood in the shadows of a building near the luxurious hotels district watching the entrance, waiting for the chosen one to appear. The damp, cool night air settled in his bones. He was miserable but didn’t dare give up, and so he continued to hide there waiting and hoping for over two hours. Then he finally accepted that he had failed.

Defeated, he climbed back into his Jeep and headed home. Tears came into his eyes, so severe was his disappointment and shame. He heard someone sob, realized that he had made the sound, and impatiently wiped the tears from his cheeks.

He couldn’t stop shaking. He had failed. What would the demon do to him now? He sobbed again.

And then, just as he was about to scream with the despair, the answer came. He saw the entrance to the Park and suddenly knew the demon had guided him to where he needed to go. The jogging trail circled the new university and the park in a perfect figure eight. He remembered seeing the diagram in the newspaper along with a long article about a festival. The proceeds would go to some sort of charity, but he couldn’t remember which one.

You’ll find him here, the demon whispered.

He was suddenly relieved. He found a perfect parking spot along the street next to the university. He pulled up beside a telephone pole. There was a poster for a coming race north of the city nailed to it. The poster showed a pretty young woman crossing a finish line.

He started to open the door and then froze. He wasn’t dressed properly. He’d worn his cheap but serviceable black suit with a white shirt and pinstriped tie because he thought he’d find him down near the hotel, and he wanted to blend in with the other businessmen going home from work.

What should he do?

Make the best of it, the demon hissed.

He grabbed his briefcase and decided to act as though he were a professor at the university, walking in a hurry. It wasn’t such a stretch. Yes, he could pull it off.

The weather had turned foul again. It had rained hard every day for the past four days, but it was supposed to be clear tonight. The weatherman had obviously been wrong.

He walked quickly along the trail, trying to act as though he knew where he was headed. He walked for almost a mile, a fine mist covering his clothes, the urgency building inside him as he searched for the perfect spot. There weren’t many wooded areas, and he knew the specimen would be more cautious and watchful there.

He wasn’t too concerned that the mist would keep _him_ away. Runners run, no matter the weather. And there was an important race to get ready for, he thought. Oh, yes, he would find _him_ there.

But where should he hide? He kept walking, looking for a good spot. New lights designed to look like old-fashioned gas lamps were spaced along the path about twenty feet apart, some even closer together near the back of a building he was approaching. A sign with an arrow pointing to the building indicated it was a lecture hall. “Won’t do, won’t do,” he muttered. Too much light for what he intended.

His suit was soaked through, and still he continued on. What was that against the wall? He walked closer, stepped off the path, and then stopped.

A shovel.

There were three large holes along the side of the stone building where shrubs had been pulled out to make room for new ones. One of the workmen had obviously left the shovel behind. And a few other items as well. On the ground next to the shovel was an orange tarp folded haphazardly, and sticking out from one edge was a hammer, rusty but adequate. He seized it, measured the weight and grip in his hand, and held it close to his side. He hadn’t thought to bring a weapon. He was strong, terribly strong, and he believed he could subdue any man, no matter his size, with his bare hands. The hammer might make it easier to convince him not to struggle. Better safe than sorry, he thought.

He walked around the curve in the path and gasped with excitement. A renovation was in progress. There was a pyramid of dead shrubs and trees, the roots like the devil’s snare reaching into the path. The trash was waiting to be carted away. He looked around for signs of anyone who could see or hear, then picked up a rock, and with his first pitch, broke the lamplight nearest the pile. Still too bright, he decided and threw another rock to break a second lamp.

“Perfect,” he whispered. A perfect little nest.

He kept thinking about those big, deep holes someone had thoughtfully left for him. A couple of them were on the south side of the building, but there were two more adjacent to the path with neon orange cones around them. Although he was wearing gloves, he still brushed his palms against his pants as he hunkered down behind the stack of foul-smelling, decomposing rot. His loafers sank into the mud. He gingerly placed the cheap attaché case on the ground next to him and took a deep, calming breath.

His senses were heightened by adrenaline, and he was more attuned to his surroundings. He could hear every little sound, smell every musty scent.

He heard the pounding of feet against the pavement as a runner approached. He smiled with satisfaction. Runners run, no matter what. He scrunched down lower still and squinted through the triangular opening he’d made between the branches. He watched the spot under a bright light he knew the runner would have to pass.

“Yes.”

The runner was indeed a young man with jet black hair. But was he the right guy? Was he the perfect chosen one? He couldn’t see his face, he was looking down at the path as he sped along. He could see his slim, athletic body, though. He had to be the one.

Clutching the hammer like a baseball bat, he prepared to spring.

He didn’t mean to kill him. He wanted only to daze him. Too late, he discovered his timing was off. He should have let the runner get past him and then struck him from behind, at the base of his skull, but he was too eager and too inexperienced. He was a fighter, clawing at his face as he struggled to take his down.

He dodged the guy’s hands, and when he was finally able to get a good look at his face, he realized he was seeing him clearly. Panic set in, and then fury.

He struck him hard—one blow from the hammer—and he collapsed. The demon wouldn’t let it end there. Again and again he struck his legs, pounding his knees and his thighs and his ankles.

There was blood everywhere.

Luck stayed on his side, for the mist had turned into a hard rain. He turned his face up to the sky and let the cold rainwater wash the blood away. The crimson stream flowed under his shirt collar giving him goose bumps. He closed his eyes to rest.

He suddenly bolted upright. How long had he been squatting next to his body, stupidly looking up at the black sky while anyone could have wandered by?

He shook his head. He had to hide the body.

The holes. Those beautiful, big holes on the side of the building. Dare he risk carrying her all that way? He waited after midnight, when he was sure no one would disturb him, he moved the dead branches and dug a pit for the body. He made sure it was deep enough to cover it all. As he dragged him to the hole, shovelled dirt on top of him and patted it down, and then dragged the rotting branches and dead shrubs over his work.

After he covered his footprints as best he could, he stood off to the side of the path to survey his handiwork. He was relieved to see that the rain had already washed the blood away from the walk.

The shaking started when he got back in his Jeep. He could barely get the key into the ignition, so undone was he by what had just happened. By the time he got home, an overwhelming sensation of peace and tranquillity eased through his limbs, and he was feeling just like he used to after sex. Satisfied, content, relaxed.

And guilt free. That surprised him a little. He really didn’t feel any guilt at all. But then, why should he? The man had tricked him, and for that reason alone he deserved to die.

After he parked in his garage, he pulled a wooden crate from a shelf and laid the bloody hammer in the bottom. Then he emptied his pockets. The driver’s license he’d impulsively taken from the man went into the box next. He shoved the crate and the attaché case into a corner. After that, he stripped and put his muddy clothes and shoes in a trash bag.

He had to be quiet. He didn’t want to awaken Noah, and so he decided he’d sleep in the guest room. He silently crossed the house and climbed the stairs. When he saw his face in the bathroom mirror, he gasped and recoiled in horror. What had the man done to him? His face looked like raw hamburger. He quickly turned on the faucet and used a cloth to gently wash the blood away. There was even one long scratch down his face and the side of his neck. He raged against him as he stepped into the shower and turned the water on. His arms were a mess, too.

What if someone had seen him on the drive home? How many times had he sat at stoplights looking left and right? Maybe one of the other drivers had already called the police and given them his license plate number.

He began to bang his head against the tile. They’ll catch me; they’ll catch me. What will I do? Oh, what will happen to his lovely Noah? Who will take care of him? Will he be forced to watch me being dragged away in handcuffs? That humiliation was too appalling to think about, and so he did what he had trained himself to do while Noah was in the critical care unit at the hospital. He forced himself to block the image until it disappeared.

He stayed inside his house all weekend, glued to the television set, waiting to hear the newscasters talk about the murder. As time went by, he became strangely detached because the body of the runner hadn’t been discovered. By Tuesday, he counted himself lucky and was feeling quite confident.

Not bad, he told himself. Not bad at all for a dress rehearsal.

He’d even come up with the perfect explanation for his scratches. The rain had made the ground slick and he’d slipped and fallen into some thorny bushes.

His department head, a bossy man, called him into his office on Wednesday at four to tell him that everyone had noticed how hard he was working and how cheerful he had been these past three days. Why, one of his colleagues had mentioned that he’d even told a joke. The bossy man hoped that he would continue with this bright, fresh, wonderful attitude.

As he was leaving his boss’s office, he was asked a question. What had caused this transformation? Spring, he’d told him. He was ignoring the foul weather and landscaping his entire backyard. He was having a delightful time, but he wasn’t doing any planting yet. The ground was warm now, and he was tearing up everything. Out with the old and in with the new.

“Do be careful pulling out those shrubs,” the boss cautioned. “You don’t want to fall into any more thorny bushes and get hurt again. You’re lucky the scratches didn’t become infected.”

Indeed. He most certainly didn’t want any more scratches, and yes, he was a very lucky man.


	4. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Double update yay!

The week went by in a blur, by Friday, Zayn was in a much better mood. He’d caught up on all of his paperwork, and he was able to get back to what he loved to do.

Even running into Harry’s assistant didn’t dampen his spirits. Zayn had been hurrying down the hall to his office when Kevin called out. He turned and waited for Kevin to catch up to him. The man was at least his height. His blond hair was cropped short and styled to the right. Everything about Kevin was trendy. If you ask him, Zayn would say he was definitely trying so hard to become Harry’s type.

Zayn didn’t like Kevin, but he tried his best not to let his personal feelings interfere with work. For some reason, Kevin had taken a real dislike to Zayn too. Kevin’s animosity had been building over the past couple of months, and he was becoming more openly hostile.

“Harry would like me to take over the meeting you were scheduled to run this morning. I’m sure he wanted to make certain it ran smoothly.” He said venomously.

It was an insult, and not even a veiled one. Zayn had to remind himself why he put up with the guy and not actually hit him in the face like he would have done four years ago, because as unpleasant as he was, he did ease Harry’s workload, and that was all that mattered.

“That’s fine,” he said.

“I’ll need the notes Harry e-mailed you. Print them out and have your assistant bring them to me.” Kevin instructed. No please or thank you, of course. He simply turned and walked away. Zayn took a breath and decided he wasn’t going to let Kevin ruin his morning. Think of something good, he told himself. It took a minute, but he finally came up with something. He didn’t have to work with Kevin. That was definitely good.

Most days, Zayn believed he had a dream job because he got to give away money. He was the administrator of the Styles-Malik Foundation. His grandmother Styles had begun the philanthropic program, and when she had a fatal stroke a couple of years ago, Zayn, who was already being trained for the position, stepped in and took over. It wasn’t yet the multimillion-pound foundation Zayn hoped for, but it was successful and had provided money and supplies to many struggling schools and community centers. Now all he needed to do was convince his brothers to increase the funding. And that was not an easy task, especially with Harry, whose entire focus was on expanding the hotel chain.

People were skeptical of Zayn’s success in taking over the foundation. Especially after the many dramas Zayn had growing up. A few scandals could not be ushered under the rag after it reached the media’s ears. After all the Styles family was prestigious family that kept their image respectable and impeccable. From all the scandals he had caused Zayn had to admit that him coming out as homosexual was the one which caused a whole new level of uproar. Fortunately he had the full support of his brothers and his friends. He was so thankful and astonished though from Harry’s way of support. Harry was supposed to be the perfect polished image of the family, but in order to defend him he went on a date with a man and stated that he himself did not care about the gender of the person he dated. Needless to say the media had a circus going on by those revelations. However at the end of the day everyone respected Harry, so Zayn was off the hook. He was just frayed by his family for his way of acting out without thinking about their image.

Zayn grew up to be a handsome man, but his image wasn’t as polished as Harry’s.

For one, he had tattoo’s covering his body, he had piercings, and he tried crazy hairstyles from time to time.

For two he went to art school where students were encouraged to express themselves in the most original way possible.

For three, Zayn had Louis Tomlinson and Gigi Hadid as his best friends, enough said.

So Zayn’s job wasn’t only to run the foundation, he also contributed in building an art gallery that happened to be next to the hotel which featured his art and the art of so many talented artist that wanted to contribute to the cause.

Styles London International Hotel was just one of Harry’s babies, but he used it as the model for other ventures. Customer service was the number one priority, and because of the staff’s attention to detail, the hotel had won every prestigious award possible since the year it had opened. The operation of all the hotels ran very smoothly because Harry took pains to hire people who shared his commitment.

Henry Porter was waiting for Zayn when he entered his office. His young assistant worked part-time while he attended college. The young African-British man had the body of a lineman, the heart of a lion, and the mind of a young Bill Gates.

“The dragon’s looking for you,” he said in greeting.

Zayn laughed. “I ran into Kevin in the hall. He’s going to take over the ten o’clock meeting. Anything else going on I need to know about?”

“I’ve got good news and bad news.”

“Give me the good news first.”

“The supplies are on the way to two more schools for their art programs, and there are sixteen more letters waiting for your signature.” Grinning from ear to ear, he added, “Sixteen very worthy A-levels students are going to go to great universities now, all expenses paid.”

Zayn smiled. “That is good news. On days like this, I do love my job.”

“Me too,” he said. “Most of the time anyway.”

“Which leads you to the bad news?”

Zayn sat down behind his desk and began to sign the letters. As he finished each one, he handed it to Henry, who folded it and put it in an envelope. “There was a problem this morning. Well … actually, the problem’s been ongoing for about a month, but I thought I could handle it. Now, I’m not so sure. Do you remember a guy named Morrison? Peter Morrison?”

He shook his head. “What about him?”

“You turned him down for a second grant about a month ago. When he received the denial letter, he immediately reapplied. He thought it was some kind of clerical error or that he hadn’t dotted all his i’s or left a line blank or something on what he called the automatic-renewal application, and that’s why he filled out another one. Anyway, he called several weeks ago and asked when he could expect the money. He had this crazy notion that, once he’d been approved for the first grant, it was gravy from then on. I straightened him out on that score,” Henry said. He shook his head as he continued. “Then he calls me again and tells me he doesn’t think I understand what an automatic renewal means.”

“He sounds tenacious.”

“He’s a pain in the … you know. I didn’t want to bother you about it, but the guy just won’t go away. Since you left for Rome, he’s increased his calls. It’s like he’s got this campaign going. Maybe he thinks that if he keeps bugging me, I’ll give in just to get rid of him.”

“If he’s that much of a nuisance, I should talk to him. Would you pull his paperwork? I must have had a good reason for turning him down.”

“I already pulled it,” Henry told him, pointing to a file on the edge of her desk. “But I can save you some time and tell you why you denied his request. He misused the money from the first grant. The grant was specifically targeted for the purchase of new supplies for the community centre.”

“Oh, yeah, I do remember him now.” Zayn said nodding his head.

“Morrison told me he had purchased new materials. He just misplaced the receipts.”

“And what did you say to that?”

Henry laughed. “I said, okay, that’s good to know, and then I asked him when it would be convenient for you and me to swing by and see for ourselves. He did some fancy dancing then. You should have heard him stammering and sputtering.”

Zayn shook his head. “In other words, no new supplies for show-and-tell.”

“That’s right. I don’t think he has any idea how much trouble he’s in. When his employers find out he misused the grant money, they’ll want to prosecute. I would.” He added, “I didn’t tell him that, though.”

“How did you end the call?”

“We’re not best friends, if that’s what you were wondering,” he said. “It was hard being polite to the jerk, but I managed. He wants to come down and talk to you personally. Before he hung up, he assured me that he could get you to change your mind.”

“Fat chance.”

“My thought exactly. It was odd, though. He acted like he had some kind of personal connection to you. I think he’s a worry. He’s got this edge about him. I don’t know how he got past the initial screening the accountants did for all the applicants, but he somehow managed. I really don’t think you should waste your time talking to him. But if you insist, and he threatens you, I think you ought to tell Harry about him.”

It was the wrong thing to say. The look he gave him made his six-foot-three assistant wince.

“I’m not going to involve any of my brothers, Henry. Are we clear on that?”

“Yes, sir. We’re clear.”

“If Morrison becomes a threat, I’ll notify security, and I’ll call the police. Now enough about him. I’ve signed the last letter. They’re ready to mail.”

Henry scooped up the envelopes and turned to leave. “One more thing,” Zayn said. “Will you print out Harry’s e-mail? There are notes for the meeting Kevin’s going to handle.”

“You want me to take the printout down to him?” he asked. His expression was pathetic.

Zayn laughed. “You’ll survive.”

He cleared his throat and took a step back inside. “About Harry …”

“Yes?”

“I’m not supposed to tell you, but the way I see it, I work for you, not your brother. Right?”

He looked up. “That’s right.”

“A couple of weeks ago he stopped in. You weren’t here, and he told me that if there was ever any problem, I was supposed to call him.”

Zayn tried not to get angry. “Harry’s got a father complex.”

“I told him there weren’t any big problems and that we’re doing great. We are doing great, don’t you think? And we’re making a difference.”

“That’s right. We are.”

Henry was pulling the door closed when he remembered one other bit of news. “I forgot to mention it, but last week I found the dragon in here.”

“In my office? What was he doing?” Zayn asked.

“He said he put some papers on your desk, but after he left, I looked and I didn’t see anything new. I think he was snooping. I also think he messed with your computer.”

“Are you sure about that?” he asked, wondering what Kevin had been searching for. The longer Zayn thought about it, the angrier he became.

“I’m pretty sure. You always turn your computer off when you leave for the night, and I had only just gotten to work when I walked in and found him in your office. He’s got some gall, doesn’t he?” That was an understatement. Before Zayn could respond, Henry said, “I think we should start locking this door so the dragon can’t get in.”

“You’ve got to stop calling him dragon. One of these days it will slip out in front of him.”

Henry shrugged, letting him know without words that he really didn’t care.

Zayn worked until eleven-thirty, then ran upstairs to his suite to rest.

Since it was only seven short blocks to The Palms, Zayn decided to walk. On the way back, he decided he would drop off the grant reports at the attorney’s office, and he wanted to stop by the Body Shop to buy a bottle of Gigi’s favourite body lotion. His friend’s birthday was just around the corner. Zayn had already purchased a gorgeous Prada bag Gigi had admired, and he was going to fill it with all the things his friend loved.

Zayn decided walking would do him good. The exercise would hopefully help him vent off his anger from the morning’s events. Finding out that Kevin had been snooping around his office was infuriating, and he did not get over it yet.

He was thinking about the invasion of his privacy as he crossed the lobby. He spotted the person that was causing his bad mood heading toward the concierge and decided to confront him.

“Kevin, have you got a minute? I’d like to speak to you.”

Kevin turned, a look of irritation on his face, and said, “Yes, of course.”

“Henry mentioned that he found you in my office last week.”

Zayn expected a denial and was shocked when Kevin said, “Yes, that’s correct.”

“What exactly were you doing?”

“I placed some papers on your desk.” He said without blinking.

“Why didn’t you give them to Henry or leave them on his desk?”

“I didn’t want them to get misplaced.” Kevin was looking over Zayn’s shoulder instead of directly at him, letting him know how unimportant the conversation was.

“Henry doesn’t misplace things.” He was going to launch into a litany of praise for his assistant, but Kevin didn’t stay around long enough to listen.

Kevin walked away and without a backward glance said, “Henry misplaced Harry’s report, didn’t he?”

“No, he did not,” he said emphatically.

“Then I must assume you did.”

Kevin kept going. Zayn wasn’t about to get into a shouting match with the guy or go chasing after him, but trying to get along with him was becoming more and more impossible. Something had to be done, and soon. Count to ten and concentrate on something good, he told himself. Something positive.

He stepped outside of the hotel and immediately noticed what a beautiful, clear day it was. The grey haze had already burned off the city, and the sun was shining brightly. The sky was a perfect shade of powder blue.

He finally reached the restaurant to see that Kyle was on duty today. Tall, lanky, and painfully thin, the twenty-year-old had spiked black hair and almond-shaped eyes. He was Henry’s best friend. His smile put him in a much better mood.

“Looking awful good today, Zayn,” he said after giving him a quick once-over. “That fitted suit sure accents your …”

He raised an eyebrow. “My what?”

“Ass,” he whispered, and had the good grace to blush.

Before he could answer, he leaned over the podium to look at his shoes. “Hey, are those Armani?”

He laughed. “What do you know about Armani shoes?”

“Not from nothing,” he admitted. “But my boyfriend lusts after them, so I figured, you being so classy and all, you’d have a couple hundred pair.”

“Kyle, I don’t have a couple hundred anything, and no, these aren’t Armani shoes. Is that a new earring?”

He nodded. “Chris gave it to me for our six-month anniversary. Dad hates it, but he’s so happy about my grades he isn’t making a big deal about it. Chris’ trying to talk Henry into getting one too.”

Kevin noticed Mr. Landon, the owner, heading their way. “Uh-oh,” he whispered. “Here comes Landon. Be sure to rave about the ferns. The guy’s obsessing about them.”

Zayn smiled as the owner approached. “I love what you’ve done with the place, Mr. Landon. Those ferns are wonderful.”

He beamed with pleasure. “You noticed?”

 _How could he not notice? They were everywhere_. “Oh, yes,” he said.

“You don’t think it’s too … jungle?”

“No, no, of course not.”

The restaurant did have a bit of a jungle theme going, but it wasn’t overwhelming, and the ferns above each booth gave the customers the feeling of being in a private room.

“How many today?” Kevin asked.

“Three,” he answered. “Gigi made the reservation for twelve-thirty. I’m a little early.”

“Show him to section four,” Landon said. “I’ve just put in some ficus trees. They’re quite robust.”

Kyle stood behind the short man, rolling his eyes and grinning. He showed him to a booth that was completely surrounded by ficus and palms and ferns. Louis and Gigi were both late. Zayn sipped Sprite, hoping to soothe him and he was actually beginning to relax.

His mind wandered on the couple that just took a seat closer to their place and it reminded him of his grandfather and his too young bride.

He stepped behind the ficus to observe them.

“Lecher,” he whispered.

“Doing a little gardening?” Zayn jumped at the sound of Gigi’s voice.

“You’re late.”

Gigi ignored the criticism. “What were you doing? Looking at a gorgeous man, I hope.”

“Sorry, no. I was watching another one of them.”

“So you’re still doing that, huh?”

Zayn nodded. “I can’t seem to help myself. Seriously, they’re everywhere.”

Gigi laughed at Zayn’s frustration. Zayn thought she looked like a young teenager. Her hair was up in a ponytail, and her cheeks were flushed from running. Gigi ran everywhere because she was usually late. She looked lovely today, but then she always did. “Is that a new blouse? I like it.”

“I wear too much pink,” Gigi said. “But I saw this and I just had to have it.”

The waiter appeared at the table and took Gigi’s drink order.

Zayn turned toward the entrance of the restaurant and said, “I can’t believe you beat Louis here. I wonder what’s keeping him. He’s never late.”

“I told him he didn’t need to be here until one or a quarter of,” she said.

The waiter had returned with a tall glass of iced tea. Gigi immediately grabbed three sugar packets and dumped the contents into the glass.

“Why did you tell him…?”

“He already knows what I want to talk to you about. I dragged him into this a good month ago, but I didn’t want to bother you because you were doing so much traveling back then.”

“I just went to Rome.”

“Excuse me. Before Rome you were in Paris and Miami and …”

“L.A.,” he supplied. “I guess I have done a lot of traveling in the last two months. So tell me. What’s the ‘this’ you dragged Louis into?”

“The plan.”

She’d used the word with relish, and Zayn saw a gleam in her eyes.

“You’re sounding awfully earnest, G. So, tell me about the plan” he added, exaggerating the words.

“Don’t mock me.”

Zayn put a hand up. “I’m not mocking you. I swear it on your iced tea.”

The waiter had heard “iced tea,” and a few seconds later a tall glass was placed before Zayn. He didn’t tell the eager man he didn’t want it. He thanked him instead.

Gigi folded her hands. “To begin with, the plans have changed for this evening.”

“We aren’t going to dinner?”

“Yes, of course we’re going to dinner. Louis already made the reservations. We’re going to a reception first.” She turned to her purse and pulled out a wad of folded papers and placed them on the table.

“What are those?”

“I’ll explain in a minute.”

“Okay. Then tell me about the reception.”

Gigi was frowning at a group of businessmen seated at a long table adjacent to them.

“What’s wrong?”

“Those men are staring at you.”

“They aren’t staring at me. They’re staring at you,” Zayn said. “Just ignore them.”

“The one on the end is really quite cute.”

Zayn didn’t look. “Tell me about the reception.”

Gigi finally gave Zayn her full attention. “It’s for the men and women who register early for the weekend seminar we’re all going to attend.”

She’d blurted it all out and then gave Zayn her brightest smile. It didn’t work.

“Can’t do it.”

“Sure you can. You’re all stressed out from the trip to Rome, and having to be in the same room with your sleazebag stepfather—to borrow your opinion of the man. This is something completely different and … noble. Yes, what we’re going to do is noble.”

“How noble?”

Gigi leaned forward. In a whisper she said, “We’re going to catch a murderer.”


	5. Chapter Four

Zayn hadn’t been shocked by Gigi’s announcement. After all, he’d grown up with her and was certainly used to her dramatic ways. “‘We’re going to catch a murderer’? Is that what you just said?” Zayn asked.

“Yes, that’s exactly what we’re going to do.”

“Okay,” he said. “And how exactly are we going to do that?”

“I’m serious, Zayn. I really want to get this bastard.” Zayn raised an eyebrow.

“Who are we talking about?”

“Dr. Lawrence Shields,” she said. “He’s a doctor of psychology who uses his mail-order credentials to fleece rich but lonely, vulnerable women, both young and old.”

Zayn was nodding. “Have you heard of him?” Gigi asked.

“I’ve read a couple of articles about him in the newspaper.”

Gigi took a drink of her tea and then said, “His self-help, let-me-show-you-how-to-turn-your-miserable-life-around seminars draw hundreds of unsuspecting men and women. It’s so sad, really. The young are looking for a guru for guidance in figuring out what they should do with their futures, and the older men and women are looking for ways to change the paths they’ve taken.”

“I remember reading that Dr. Shields is considered to be a miracle worker.”

“He most certainly is not. Those articles and interviews are paid advertisements. Shields spends a considerable amount of money promoting his seminars. He does two a year here in London.”

Gigi was getting all worked up. The spots of colour on her cheeks had spread.

“I imagine he makes quite a lot of money on those seminars,” Zayn said, wondering how much the man charged for a weekend of group therapy.

Her friend picked up the stack of folded papers and handed them to Zayn. “These are photocopies of a diary written by a woman named Mary Coolidge. She’s one of the women Shields conned.”

“I’ll read this later,” he promised. “Just give me the highlights now.”

Gigi agreed with a nod. “Mary Coolidge’s husband died two years ago, and after that, she moved around in a fog of depression. Her daughter, Christine, tried to help, but Mary refused to go to counselling or take medication.”

“After you lose someone you love, it’s natural to mourn,” Zayn said. “It’s still hard for me to deal with my mother’s death, and she’s been gone almost a full year.”

“Yes, it’s natural to mourn, but it took Mary two years before she’d even leave her house.”

“So what did she do?” Zayn asked. She watched Gigi add yet another packet of sugar to her drink and was a little amazed she could stand the taste.

“Mary heard about the seminars Shields held, and without telling her daughter or any of her friends, she paid the thousand-pound fee and attended the two-day workshop.”

“A thousand pound? How many people attend these workshops?”

“Three or four hundred. Why?”

“Do you realize how much money he’s taking in?” he leaned back against the padded booth and said, “Please continue.”

“Shields was as good as his promise. He did change Mary’s life. The charismatic fraud pounced on her loneliness, methodically weaselled his way into her heart, and then took every dollar her husband had left her, which, as it turned out, was well over one million pounds. Shields is a snake,” she added. “But a clever snake. Everything he did was legal. Mary willingly turned her assets over to him.”

“And this is all in her diary?” Zayn asked.

Gigi nodded. “Had her daughter not found the thing, she never would have known all the details of what had happened. Mary had written all about her whirlwind romance. Just three short months after meeting Shields, he asked her to marry him and she agreed. He insisted she keep their engagement their little secret until he had the time—and the money—to buy her a proper engagement ring.”

“What do you mean, until he had the money? If he was charging—”

Gigi cut her off. “It was a con, of course. He told her he was experiencing ‘temporary’ money problems, and she, wanting to prove her love and trust, willingly transferred her savings over to him.”

“How could she have been so gullible?”

“Loneliness,” she said. “You know what happened next, don’t you?”

“He changed his mind.”

“Exactly,” she said. “He told her he’d had a change of heart. Not only didn’t he want to marry her, he didn’t want to give her the money back. He also pointed out that there really wasn’t anything she could do about it.”

“That poor woman.”

The waiter interrupted to take their lunch orders.

“I think we should go ahead,” Gigi said. “I can’t take a long lunch today.”

Zayn checked the time. It wasn’t quite one yet. “I’ll wait for Louis, but you go ahead.”

Gigi ordered a salad and a refill on her iced tea. The second the waiter left, Zayn asked, “What happened to Mary?”

“She killed herself. At least that’s what everyone believes.”

“Everyone but you?”

She nodded. She put her napkin down and excused herself. “I’ll explain when I come back.”

Gigi headed for the ladies’ room, leaving Zayn hanging. Zayn noticed the men at the table were all watching his friend pass by. Gigi knew it too, which was why she was walking with such an exaggerated stride. It’s all in the hips, she used to tell Louis and Zayn. If you wanted to get a man’s attention, move the hips. And heavens, was she moving them now. It certainly worked for her, Zayn thought. He picked up the papers to look them over and happened to glance toward the entrance just as Louis walked in.

Everything about Louis was a contradiction. People found him quite sexy because he had an ass to kill for, feathery light brown hair, piercing blue eyes, and he moved with the grace of a feline, but he was totally oblivious of any stares of admiration-one man at the table was now gawking at him-and Louis was far more comfortable underneath a car than inside it. Like Gigi, he was an only child and had lost his mother at an early age. His father owned an extremely profitable chain of auto repair shops all through the UK. Though he’d become a very wealthy man, in his heart he was still a mechanic, and as a way of bonding with his son, had taught him everything he knew about cars. He’d given him an old Ford a couple of years ago, and since then, he had rebuilt the engine and replaced everything but the muffler and the windshield. One night a week Louis taught an auto mechanics class. He also taught chemistry at a local school and at the same time was working on his PhD at the university. If he stayed on schedule, he’d be finished with his dissertation in another year. Zayn was so proud of him.

He was dressed in a black suit and a pale shirt. He looked quite chic. If Louis had any flaws, it was his terrible taste in men.

Gigi bumped into him on her way back from the ladies’ room. They both stopped to talk to Kyle.

Zayn watched them, smiling. Gigi was waving her hands around as she explained something. Kyle looked enraptured by whatever she was telling him, while Louis stood there with his arms folded, nodding every so often.

Gigi had the most energy of the three friends. Therefore she thought it was fit for her to take charge of their little group. In high school she was labelled a troublemaker, a title she worked hard to earn, and because she dragged Zayn and Louis into her schemes, they landed in detention on a regular basis. Gigi was still bossy, but nowadays, Louis and Zayn rarely went along with any of her plans.

Zayn had a feeling that this weekend might turn out to be an exception.

Louis gave a quick wave as he walked down the aisle and slid into the booth across from Zayn. Gigi was still talking to Kyle. His boss, Mr. Landon had joined the conversation.

“I’m starving,” Louis said. “And no wonder. It’s one o’clock. Are you ready to order? Gigi said she already did.”

“I’m ready. What’s she talking to Kyle and Mr. Landon about?”

“She thinks it would be a nice idea to feature the restaurant again and is going to talk to the food editor about it.”

Louis motioned to the waiter, and after the two of them had ordered their lunch, he nodded to the folded papers. “Are those copies of Mary Coolidge’s diary?”

“Yes,” Zayn answered. “You’ve read it?”

“I have. It’s heart breaking.”

“Why didn’t you mention any of this when you called?”

“I knew Gigi would want to tell you. It’s her plan after all.”

“I haven’t heard the plan yet.” Zayn said mockingly.

Louis smiled. “You will,” he said. “Besides, she already made me promise I’d attend the reception and the weekend seminar, and I knew she was going to rope you into going too. She’s had some crazy ideas in the past, but this one is for a good cause.”

The waiter placed the Diet Coke he’d ordered on the table with a bread basket.

Louis immediately took a wheat roll and was tearing it apart when Zayn said, “If what Gigi has told me about Mary Coolidge is accurate, then Shields should be in prison. Why isn’t he?”

“He’s as slick as an eel, that’s why,” he said. “I’ve filed a complaint against him hoping they’ll yank his license, and I’m sure others have done the same. Something needs to be done to stop him from preying on other vulnerable women.”

“I don’t understand. He’s making a fortune with his seminars,” he said. “Why would he …”

Zayn was searching for the right word. Louis supplied it. “Fleece? Rob? Steal?”

“… fleece lonely women? He doesn’t need the money.”

“I don’t think it’s a question of need with him,” he said. “I think he does it for the power it gives him. I think he gets off on it.”

“Who’s getting off on what?” Gigi asked as she sat down next to Louis. “Hand me my iced tea, please.”

“We’re talking about why Shields goes after rich, unhappy women,” Louis said. He handed Gigi her drink as he added, “And I was saying it isn’t about the money.”

“I disagree,” Gigi said. “I think it’s all about the money.”

“The risk of someone going to the police …” Zayn began.

“He thinks he’s invincible,” Gigi said. “And the risk? Must be worth it to him. Mary Coolidge handed over a little more than one million. And that’s a whole lot of money guys.”

“Definitely worth the risk,” Louis said. “When you’re as greedy as he is.”

Zayn looked at Gigi. “How did you get hold of this diary?”

“I told you Mary’s daughter found the diary after the funeral … when she was packing her mother’s things.”

“Yes.”

“She immediately went to the police and got nowhere. She also hired an attorney to get her mother’s money back, but after reviewing the paperwork Mary had signed, the attorney told the daughter that what Shields had done was reprehensible, but legally he hadn’t broken any laws.”

“And?” Zayn asked when Gigi didn’t continue.

“Christine—that’s the daughter’s name—had to return to Liverpool, where she and her husband live, but before she left, she mailed copies of the diary to the Tribune. The reporter who got the envelope made a few phone calls, but he had more pressing work to get done, and he didn’t have the time to devote to what he considered to be a lost cause. The letter and the photocopies ended up in his trash can.

“I heard him telling another reporter about the gullibility of the woman, and, of course, I became curious, so after he left, I took the copies out of the trash and read them.”

“You know what a sucker Gigi is for lost causes,” Louis said. “And since she needed help, she coerced me into reading the diary …”

“And he promptly got on board,” Gigi added.

“When did all this happen?” Zayn asked.

Gigi answered. “You were in L.A. when Louis went to the police to find out what he could.”

“She made me go,” Louis said. “And I’ll admit that I was initially encouraged to learn that the police did, in fact, have an active file on the man. My excitement didn’t last long, though. Inspector Lewis is a silver-haired charmer and a bad flirt. He oozed sympathy and understanding,” he added. “And it took me all of two minutes to figure out he wasn’t the least bit sincere.”

Gigi had forgotten to tell the waiter to bring her salad as soon as it was ready. All three lunches arrived together. In a hurry now to get back to the office, she picked up her fork and attacked her salad with gusto. Louis poured ketchup all over his cheeseburger, slapped the top bun on, and picked it up.

“Have there been any other complaints against Shields?” Zayn asked.

Louis put the cheeseburger back on his plate before answering. “Yes, it looks like there were other women, but no hard evidence had been collected. The Inspector insisted he was working on it. I’m not sure what that’s supposed to mean. Anyway, another month went by and still no arrest had been made. I found out that Lewis had shuffled the investigation over to one of his more lacklustre detectives named Sweeney.”

He picked up the cheeseburger again and was about to take a bite when Zayn asked, “And how long did you say you’ve been working on this?”

“Not that long,” Louis said.

Zayn deliberately waited until Louis was about to take a bite of his sandwich and then said, “One more question …”

Louis put the sandwich down again. “You’re doing that on purpose, aren’t you? Asking me questions just as I … Gigi, leave my french fries alone.”

“They’re not good for you. I’m just helping you eat them because I care about your health. That’s the kind of friend I am.”

Louis rolled his eyes at Gigi and then turned back as Zayn was asking, “I do have a serious question. Do you think Mary Coolidge committed suicide, or do you believe what Gigi believes?”

“That she was murdered?” Louis whispered. “I’m not sure. It’s possible.”

Zayn dropped his fork and leaned forward. “Are you serious?”

“How come you didn’t act shocked when I told you my opinion?” Gigi asked.

Zayn didn’t mince words. “Because you’re a drama queen. Louis’s more practical, and if he thinks it’s possible, then …”

“Then what?” Gigi asked, frowning now.

“Then it’s possible.”

“I’m not a drama queen.”

“Tell me why you think it’s possible,” Zayn asked Louis, ignoring Gigi’s comment.

“Read the diary.”

“I will, but tell me now.”

“Okay. You’ll see toward the end, Mary was scared of Shields. He had threatened her. If you read the last entry, you’ll see that her handwriting is all over the page, which tells me the drugs were in her system and making her loopy. Maybe that’s why she wrote what she wrote … but then again, maybe it was really happening.”

Zayn picked up the papers, pulled the last page out, and read. There were only four words.

_Too late. They’re coming._

***

“So are you in, Zee?” Gigi asked.

“Of course I am.”

“I knew you would be,” she said. “You’re always telling me I’m a sucker for lost causes …”

“Actually, that’s what Lou tells you.”

“Yes, but you’re a sucker too.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” Zayn asked with half a smile stretching his lips.

Louis was just finishing his burger. He waved a fry in Gigi’s direction and said, “You’re going to be late. Didn’t you tell me you had a meeting at one-forty-five?”

“I need to talk to Zayn first,” Gigi said. She turned her full attention on her friend and said, “I need you to read the diary as soon as possible, but definitely before tonight. It won’t take long. Mary didn’t write in it every night. I think it’s only forty-some pages. You know what? Maybe you could read it after Lou and I leave. And then …”

Yes?”

She took a breath and blurted out, “I need another favour. I need you to go to the police station and find out if anything has been done with the investigation. Lou went last time, so it’s your turn.”

“My turn? I just joined in this…how it can be my turn?” he objected.

“It’s still your turn,” Gigi pointed out.

“Why can’t you go to the police station?” Zayn asked.

“Are you serious? I’m a reporter. They won’t tell me anything.”

Before Zayn could argue with her, Gigi said, “Okay, I know what you’re thinking. You too, Lou. So I’m not a full-fledged investigative reporter yet, and, yes, I know you know I haven’t written any big exposés yet, and I’ve been working my butt off on the advice column at the paper for almost five fuckin’ years, but honestly, Zee, you should have more faith in me. You too, Lou,” she said again. “Everything’s going to change soon. You’ll see.”

“I have complete faith in you,” Zayn protested knitting his eyebrows. “And I wasn’t thinking …” he suddenly stopped arguing and laughed. “You’re really good, G, with the guilt thing.”

“She’s a pro all right,” Lou said.

“I was trying to guilt you, wasn’t I? Old habits die hard, I suppose. But I still can’t go to the police station because there are always reporters hanging around in case something big happens, and one of them will surely recognize me and want to know what I’m doing there. I know how busy you are …”

“I can make the time,” Zayn promised.

Gigi was thrilled. “You do understand why I don’t want any other reporter snooping around, don’t you? This is my investigation. I want to be the one to nail Shields and get justice for Mary Coolidge.”

“And maybe get yourself a Pulitzer?” Louis asked.

Gigi smiled. “That’s a one-in-a-billion possibility, but one can always hope. That’s not why I’m doing it, though.”

“We know,” Louis assured her. “Shouldn’t you get going, G?”

Gigi looked at her watch and groaned. “I’m gonna be late. I’ve got to get out of here,” she said as she grabbed her purse. “Will one of you pay for my lunch? I’ll pay for dinner tonight.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Louis said.

“What time are you picking me up?” Gigi asked. “And who’s driving?”

While Louis was answering, the sleazebag and his girlfriend caught Zayn’s eye as they strolled out of the restaurant. Louis noticed the change in his friend’s expression and asked, “What’s wrong?”

“That creepy old man hanging all over that twelve-year-old.”

Louis turned and spotted the couple. “She isn’t twelve. She’s got to be at least eighteen. Otherwise he could get busted.”

“And he’s what? Sixty?”

“He could be,” he said. “And the age difference bothers you because …”

“It’s disgusting.” Zayn said vehemently.

“And?”

“You’re sounding like a therapist.”

“I just think you ought to admit why you’re so disgusted. The couple remind you of your creepy stepfather and his sleazy bride.”

“Of course they do.” Zayn admitted.

“Oh.” Louis sounded disappointed.

“Oh, what?”

“I thought I was helping you make a breakthrough.” he smiled then. “You really need to lighten up a little. It’s time. Move on.”

Zayn nodded. He knew Louis was right. He just wasn’t sure how to go about it.

“I’ve had the most horrible morning. Have you got time for me to do some whining?”

“How much whining?”

“A bunch.”

Louis laughed. “I can give you ten minutes. Then I’ve got to leave.”

Zayn immediately launched into his complaints about his job, his brother, Harry’s constant interference, and his run-in with his assistant, Kevin. When he told Louis that Henry had caught said assistant snooping in his office, Louis was incensed and said, “You need to fire his ass.”

Zayn snorted. Louis laughed. “I’m starting to sound like my students. Ignore that, who am I kidding I taught them. You do need to fire him, though.”

“I can’t. He’s Harry’s assistant. He has to fire him,” he said. “But knowing you’re as outraged as I am makes me feel better. I’ve done enough whining for now. I think I’ll order another iced tea and read this diary. Then I’ll walk over to the police station. I’m going to stay positive,” he added.

 “How are you going to do that?”

“I’m going to believe that the day is going to get better.”

“I wouldn’t count on it. And good luck with Detective Sweeney.” he said wrinkling his nose, before Zayn could ask why, he added, “He’s the man you’ll have to talk to about the investigation. He’s a real piece of work.”

“I’m not worried. How bad can he be?”


	6. Chapter Five

The alley reeked like animal waste and puke. The over-flowing dumpster that Detective Liam Payne had spent most of the night behind smelled much, much worse.

In all, there were now seven detectives working the case. Liam had drawn the short straw and was relegated to doing backup for another detective named Mike Tanner, who was inside the dry and most likely warm warehouse, waiting to make the deal.

Undercover detectives Dutton and Nellis were across the street, watching the entrance to the warehouse from different angles.

Two other detectives were across town at a restaurant, looking as young and clean-cut as high school honour-roll students dressed in the uniform of all the teenagers in the city. They were impatiently waiting for a fresh supply intended for the streets of suburbia.

The seventh detective was following the money.

Detective Dutton was officially running the show, but Tanner thought he was in charge. Liam had worked with Tanner for only a couple of days, and so he tried not to make any snap judgments about the man. He’d adopted a wait-and-see attitude. Though, admittedly, what he had seen so far hadn’t impressed him. Tanner had a short fuse and let his temper get the upper hand. Not good, Liam thought, in a situation like this. Not good at all.

Tanner had already caused problems. He’d refused to wear a wire and wouldn’t let the techs put a couple of bugs inside the warehouse. Tanner was worried the mikes would be discovered, and since he was the only one who had worked with the twins, the others had to acquiesce.

Liam had been told to expect the deal to go down around three or four in the morning, when the scum crawled out from under their rocks to buy and sell anything and everything. These two lawyers were a different breed, though. They apparently started their workday around noon.

The lawyers, Lyle and Lester Sisley, were identical twins who had migrated to London from somewhere up north. They sounded and acted like good citizens who would never ever get into any real trouble. Casual acquaintances considered the twins a little slow-witted, but sweet, terribly sweet.

The opposite was the case. There was nothing sweet or slow-witted about them. Their IQs were identical and hovered just one point above genius. It was reported that they had partied their way through law school and still had managed to graduate at the top of their class.

The twins had been in London for a little over a year when they came to the conclusion that they were working too much and making too little. They decided then that they needed to branch out.

Five years later, they were taking in millions, and it sure as certain wasn’t from their legal fees. They continued to practice law and maintained their offices, but they had very few clients. The two shared an impressive title, yet neither dared print it on the glass of their office door. They were quite simply known as the premier drug lords of London.

And more. Much, much more. It was estimated that in the past twelve months, Lyle and Lester had sold more drugs than Pfizer Pharmaceuticals. There wasn’t a pill they didn’t push or a drug they didn’t lace with other, more addictive substances.

Needless to say, the undercover detectives had been trying to nail their sorry asses for a long, long time. Today would hopefully be the end for Lyle and Lester, if all went as planned. It had taken months of hard work to entice the twins into taking the risk of actually transferring the money personally. Greed had been a powerful motivator, and Tanner, who had set up this latest venture, believed he had successfully penetrated their inner circle.

Most of their illegal business transactions were conducted in the warehouse where Tanner was waiting.

The twins were the odd couple. They did almost everything together. They worked together, played together, and lived together in a high-rise apartment down town. They would even occasionally dress alike in business suite attire.

There were a few differences. Lyle had a thing for women with a big asses. He changed them like one would change clothes. Yet, the women he so casually discarded couldn’t say enough nice things about him. After he finished with them, he lavished them with expensive “parting” gifts. The women called Lyle the ultimate gentleman.

Lester had a thing for cars, Rolls-Royces to be specific. He had over fifteen of them stored in his warehouse now and had just purchased another one. Lester never drove the cars. Every Friday he liked to walk around the warehouse and look at them. He was overheard telling a friend that he was saving the cars and needed to keep them in mint condition, but he didn’t explain exactly what he was saving them for.

“Heads up.”

The whisper came through Liam’s earpiece. Dutton, from his position across the street, had spotted the twins.

Liam dropped into the Dumpster and squeezed down in the garbage. Something crawled up his neck, and he fought the urge to slap it away as he turned ever so slightly and peered out the hole he’d drilled in the metal. The lousy hiding place had been Tanner’s idea. Liam had wanted to find a spot in the loft of the warehouse where he could watch and listen, but Tanner wouldn’t hear of it. He was sure the twins would know if anyone was hiding inside, and since Tanner had set the meeting up, Liam didn’t argue.

Liam told Dutton he had no intention of waiting in the damn Dumpster. Dutton agreed. Tanner’s determination to be a superstar cop and make a name for himself was jeopardizing the operation. Dutton gave the order that as soon as Lyle and Lester went to the door, Liam was to climb up the fire escape and go in through a window he’d already scoped out for trip wires.

Liam kept watching the street. No one there yet.

“We’ve got a problem.” The voice belonged to Detective Nellis. “There’s a uniform talking to the twins. Ah, hell, he’s gonna give them a ticket. They parked in a tow-away zone.”

“No,” Dutton said. “He’s not writing a ticket. They’re all walking toward the warehouse now. The uniform’s between them.”

“Is he willingly going with them?”

“Can’t tell,” Dutton said.

“What about a gun? Does Lyle or Lester have a gun on him?” Nellis was angry. “Can you see, Dutton?”

“I can’t tell about the gun,” he whispered. “Liam, you’ve got time to get inside and warn Tanner. I’ll be right behind you.”

“Tell Tanner to abort,” Nellis whispered.

“He won’t, he won’t,” Dutton argued. “Liam, go. They’ve stopped in front of the main entrance, so they’re not gonna use the side door. They’re looking up and down the street. Not another soul around. Lester’s unlocking the door now. The uniform looks worried.”

Liam was already moving. He swung out of the Dumpster, raced across the alley, and climbed up the fire escape. The window was just out of reach. He jumped, grabbed the ledge, and then lifted himself through the window.

Dutton was right behind him. The detective wasn’t as big or as muscular as Liam, but he was just as nimble and didn’t make a sound.

There were boxes of auto parts stacked six feet high all over the loft and video cameras attached to the rafters. The twins didn’t have an alarm system. They took care of their own problems, and anyone who was crazy enough to rob or vandalize any of their property simply disappeared.

Dutton was slowly crawling toward the rail. Liam held up a hand to stop him and pointed to one of the cameras.

They could hear voices. The twins were talking to each other as they walked toward the office, which was directly below the loft. Tanner must have been waiting for them in the doorway of the office, because they heard him shout, “What the hell is this?”

Another voice—it had to be the young cop—answered, “What are you …”

And then there was a second of dead silence.

Dutton whispered, “They know.”

Liam nodded. He motioned to Dutton to cover the steps while he slowly edged closer to the railing so he could see what was happening.

Tanner was losing it, pacing back and forth, defensively throwing accusations at the twins. Lyle shoved the cop toward Tanner and pulled a gun.

It all went to hell then

***

Detective Barney Sweeney, known by his initials, B.S., to all the other detectives in the department, was having a worse than usual bad day. It started at five-thirty a.m., when he woke up with a hangover that felt like a jackhammer drilling behind his eyeballs. The only medicine that would take away the hallucination and stop the pain was what had caused it in the first place, another stiff drink of bourbon, which he downed in two thirsty gulps. It burned his throat and took the hair off his tongue.

Bleary-eyed, he gargled Listerine to hide the smell of the booze, got dressed, and went to the dentist. At seven he had a bad root canal. Then, at ten, the sun vanished, heavy dark clouds moved in, and he got soaked running from his car into a roach-infested apartment building with his partner, Ian Duncan. They climbed four flights to stare down at the decomposing body of a young twenty something female. There were empty crack vials littering the room. Sweeney figured one druggie had offed another. No real loss that he could see.

 

He also knew there wouldn’t be any identification on the victim—that would have been too easy—and of course he was right. There wasn’t. Usually he could complain enough to make Duncan do all the paperwork and the running around in circles before the file was put in the “still pending” drawer, which Sweeney had secretly labelled “who gives a fuck.”

 

Today, however, Duncan wasn’t cooperating. He called Sweeney an asshole, told him he was sick and tired of his constant bitching, and insisted he was going to have to get off his lazy fat arse and start pulling his own weight.

 

In all the movies about cops and robbers that Sweeney had watched on television while he was drinking himself into oblivion, the detectives were like brothers with their partners. One would take a bullet—and inevitably did before the movie was over—for the partner. A bloody love affair in the movies. A fairy tale. In Sweeney’s miserable world—the real world—he and his partner, Duncan, hated each other’s guts. There were times when Sweeney would fantasize about a good old-fashioned shootout where he could get behind his partner and blow his brains out.

 

He knew the feeling was mutual. Hell, these days everyone in the Met was avoiding him as if he had the clap. They knew he was under investigation, unofficial though it was, and they had decided to condemn him before any of the facts were in. Sweeney wasn’t worried about Internal Affairs. Yes, he was guilty of taking the money to look the other way while a drug dealer was killed, but the men who paid him to close his eyes weren’t in any position to rat on him. And the money, ten thousand pounds, was clean. Squeaky clean. Sweeney had been real careful. Let the task force listen to all the rumours from the out-of-work whores the murdered dealer had been running. It didn’t matter to Sweeney. If they had anything concrete, he would already have been suspended.

 

Sweeney had two years and three months to go before he could retire, but there were days, like today, when he knew he wasn’t going to make it. He could understand what happened inside a madman’s head just seconds before he opened fire on his co-workers, and sometimes he got a hard-on just thinking about Duncan’s blood and guts splattered all over the walls.

 

No matter what the gossip in the department said, he wasn’t a drunk. Not yet anyway. He was just tired of having to deal with all the scum on the streets. He’d fantasize about taking early retirement. All he needed was one big score, and he could walk away. Screw the pension. If he hit it big, he could buy a boat and sail to the Bahamas. He’d never even been on a boat, and he’d never been to the islands, but the brochures he kept tacked up on the wall above his bureau had lots of photos showing how clean the place was.

 

He wanted to walk down a clean street, breathe clean, unpolluted air, look up and see a clean blue sky without a trace of grey haze, but most of all, he wanted to feel clean again.

 

Whenever any dark fantasies got in the way of his concentration, he would buy a bottle of bourbon, take a sick day, and go on a little binge. The way he figured it, he was doing the taxpayers a favour.

 

He knew he had to hang on and stay sane until he either hit the big score or until his pension kicked in, and so he tried to find a little happiness in the day-to-day things. Tonight, for example, was going to make him very happy. His shift would be over in just twenty minutes, and unlike his kiss-ass partner, he wasn’t going to stay a minute longer. He’d gotten his pay check today, and so tonight he was going to treat himself to an expensive porterhouse steak, then drive across town to Lori’s School of Beauty, which fronted for a thriving whorehouse, and get himself a free haircut and blow job from one of the hookers who was too afraid of him to turn him down. He planned to cap off his romantic evening with an old friend, Jack Daniel’s Black Label.

 

Time was passing relatively slow. He must have checked his watch twice in the last minute. Nineteen more to go. Oh how much, he hated this place. His desk was on the far right of an ugly oblong room. The side of his desk butted up against a pea green wall.

 

He leaned back in his chair and looked around. There were a handful of detectives working at their cluttered desks, most on their phones, but none of them were paying any attention to him. Sweeney thought he could get away with leaving early and not be missed.

 

That possibility was quickly squelched when the new prick boss came up the stairs. Commissioner Lewis had only been in charge for five weeks, but it was long enough for Sweeney to decide he hated him. The Commissioner didn’t like problems, and after I.A. had a little chat with him about their unofficial investigation, Lewis had turned against Sweeney. Well, screw him. The prick didn’t want any of Sweeney’s dirt to rub off on him. Too late, Sweeney thought with a snicker.

 

Lewis wasn’t so pristine either. Sweeney watched him saunter into his glassed office at the back of the room. He’d gotten wind that Lewis was screwing around on his rich, high-society wife. Every man had secrets he didn’t want anyone else to know about, and if the lieutenant kept breathing down his neck, Sweeney had made up his mind to do a little investigative work of his own. It’d be easy for him to find out who the whore servicing Lewis was and take a few photos for the little missus. He’d do it anonymously, of course. How would Lewis live without his rich-bitch wife paying all the bills? Maybe Sweeney ought to buy one of those digital cameras and send the wife some explicit eight-by-ten photos. Hell, he might as well have some real fun and post them on the Internet too. He caught himself before he laughed out loud over the possibility. Serve the prick right if the missus took a scissors to his expensive suits, smashed that Rolex he always made sure everyone noticed, and kicked him out on his bony ass.

 

An eye for an eye. He knew Lewis was keeping a notebook on him, listing all the little infractions, so he could weed him, but as long as Sweeney stayed careful, Lewis couldn’t fire him.

 

Only three lousy minutes had passed. He shuffled some papers around on his desk and looked over his shoulder again. Lewis was watching him. He hastily turned back to his papers and opened a file, pretending to be engrossed.

 

Liam Payne came rushing up the stairs. The undercover detective looked like a drugged-out gang leader with his long, dark hair, bloodshot eyes, and scraggly beard. Payne hadn’t been in the met long. He’d transferred over a short time ago, and before that he’d been working in the police somewhere up north. Sweeney had never spoken to him, but he knew him by reputation. You didn’t want to get on his bad side.

 

A young street policeman in blue chased after Payne. His expression was pained, and he was sweating profusely. Sweeney pretended to be engrossed in his paperwork until the two men went into the Commissioner’s office. Then he picked up the phone, punched the hold button, and with the receiver to his ear, turned in his chair to see what was going on.

 

Lewis didn’t waste any time throwing a tantrum. His anger was directed at the young policeman. Sweeney tried not to smile as he watched Lewis lose it. He kept stabbing the air with one long, bony finger as he railed.

 

Sweeney had heard what had happened. The kid had ruined God-only-knew how many months of undercover work. It had been a bad scene. He’d heard a couple of detectives talking about it in the coffee room that afternoon. From what he’d overheard, Payne had turned into a fucking superhero and saved the day. He’d gotten the kid out of the drug hole while the guns were blazing. Payne would probably get another commendation, but from the look on his face, he wanted someone’s blood, not medals. Sweeney assumed Payne was out to get the stupid kid, but after watching for a long minute, he realized the detective’s anger was directed at Lewis. Maybe it was because he’d been assigned with Tanner, who everyone in the department knew was a loose cannon.

 

Speaking of the devil. Tanner came flying through the room, a look of pure hate in his eyes as he shoved a detective out of his way and barged into the Commissioner’s office. He was shouting before he’d shut the door.

 

This was better than one of those old movies on television. All he needed now was a beer and some popcorn.

 

“What’s going on?” a detective across the room called out.

 

Another detective answered. “Payne’s trying to save the lad’s ass. Tanner wants him hung out to dry.”

Sweeney rolled his eyes. Bloody saint, that’s what Payne was. Sweeney enjoyed watching Lewis get all bent out of shape. His face was bright red. Maybe he was gonna have himself a stroke. Wouldn’t that be nice?

 

He checked the time again. Fifteen minutes to go. He needed to get the hell out of here so he could start drinking. Lewis sure wasn’t paying any attention to him now. Sweeney turned to his computer, shoved the papers back into the file, and stuffed the folder into his “who gives a Fuck” drawer. He was pushing his chair back when he happened to look up. A sweet young thing was coming up the stairs. He couldn’t take his eyes off him. By the time he reached the reception area, he was salivating. He wasn’t the only one. The noise had subsided in the room, and Sweeney guessed some of the other detectives were looking him over too.

 

A kiss-ass detective on the opposite side of the room all but pole-vaulted over her desk to get to the man and offer her assistance, blocking Sweeney’s view. He glanced behind him. The men inside the Commissioner’s office were all still engrossed in their argument.

 

The detective trying to flirt with the sexy twink reluctantly pointed to Sweeney. The guy began to make his way around the cluttered desks to get to him. Sweeney hastily adjusted his tie to hide the ketchup stain, sucked in his gut, and pulled a folder out of his drawer so he would look busy.

 

The pristine guy was a knockout with full, luscious lips. Maybe he was one of those-thousand-pound-a-night whores he’d heard about but had never actually seen. Wouldn’t that be a piece of luck? He thought he was smart enough to figure out a way to make the twink put out for him. That would certainly be something to remember on long, lonely nights. He could just picture him down on his knees those lips stretched around his…

 

He forced himself to stop the budding fantasy before he got too horny. His chair groaned as he leaned back and watched him walk closer. Classy bitch, he thought. Too classy to be a high-priced whore. He spotted his outfit, his watch and an amber ring on his finger knew it had to be the real deal. No ring on the left hand, though, so the ring hadn’t come from a rich husband. He either had a wealthy father or a sugar daddy paying all his bills, and Sweeney, cynical to the bone, opted for the second possibility. Pretty-boy reeked of money. He could almost smell it on him, and his mind raced for a way to get some of it.

 

Maybe he would turn out to be his one big score. Everyone had secrets, even classy lads like him. He licked his lips in anticipation, but caution set in quickly. Stop being a fool, he told himself. His eyes narrowed as he watched him. Deep inside he knew he was way out of his league. Resented it too. The guy had that rich, well-scrubbed look he rarely saw these days. Pretty-boy had striking hazel eyes, a shade lighter than the stone on his finger. Rich and beautiful. Out of his reach, all right.

 

He stopped in front of his desk. Before he could speak, he said, “How can I help you?” He knew he sounded rude. He didn’t care.

 

“Detective Sweeney?” The man asked with a honey flavoured voice.

 

He nodded with big yellow smile on his face.

 

“That’s me, sweetheart. I’m Detective Sweeney.”

 

He could tell the boy didn’t like being called sweetheart. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly and his jaw muscle twitched. Tough, he thought. He didn’t care if he pissed him off or not. Since he’d already figured out he didn’t stand a chance with fucking him, why bother to be politically correct? Besides, his good friend Jack Daniel’s was waiting for him.

 

“My name is Zayn Malik,” he said as he placed his briefcase on the vinyl chair facing his desk and stood next to it.

 

So he definitely has a sugar daddy.

 

“Are you here to report a crime?” he asked in a condensing way.

 

“No. My friend, Louis Tomlinson, asked me to stop by and find out what developments have been made regarding his complaint against a psychologist named Dr. Lawrence Shields.”

 

He didn’t pretend to know whom he was talking about. “Who?”

 

He repeated word for word what he’d just said. He still didn’t know who or what the twink was talking about. He blabbered, trying to bluff his way with the phrase he used on nearly every inquiry he received over the phone. “Oh, yes … that’s still an ongoing investigation.”

 

“What exactly has been done?” the man inquired.

 

“Look … you’re gonna have to refresh my memory. I’ve got so many cases to oversee …”

 

He left the sentence hanging and let out a loud yawn. What a colossal waste of time, Zayn thought. Louis was right. Sweeney was obnoxious and obviously incompetent. His I-don’t-give-a-fuck attitude infuriated him.

 

He was also a pervert. He was too busy ogling him to look into his eyes. With effort, Zayn held his thinning patience as he explained who Dr. Shields was and what he had done to Mary Coolidge. Sweeney was still looking clueless when he finished.

 

“Your friend … what’s his name?”

 

“Louis Tomlinson.”

 

“What’s your connection to her?”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“I said, what’s your connection to her? The woman. The one who offed herself.”

 

“Her name was Mary Coolidge.”

 

“I see.”

 

The detective was making sure he knew he wasn’t really interested in anything he had to say. His eyes were half closed, and he was rudely yawning every other second now. He was such an effing jerk.

 

If he leaned back any farther in his chair, he’d land on his backside, and Zayn began to hope that he would.

 

“I’d like to talk about the investigation, Detective. Do you have any idea …?”

 

 

He waved his hand to stop him there. “It’s all coming back to me now. Like I was telling you, I’ve got so many cases it’s hard to keep track of all of them. I remember now. Your friend was really angry with this Dr. Shields. Told me he was sure the dr. was responsible for the old lady killing herself. My investigation is in my pending file,” he added with a straight face as he pointed to his desk drawer.

 

“What progress has been made with the investigation?”

 

“Well, the truth is …”

 

“Yes?”

 

He shrugged. “I’m working on it.”

 

Zayn nearly punched the man in the face. He took a breath instead. Antagonizing him wouldn’t help him get any straight answers, plus that would be bad press for Harry. “I see. Could you tell me...”

 

It was as far as he would let him get. “I’m going off duty now. Why don’t you come back tomorrow and inquire?”

 

Zayn’s temper was near the boiling point. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible detective.” He spat. Is Commissioner Lewis available?”

 

Pretty-boy was becoming a pain in the ass. Sweeney’s resentment turned into hostility. How dare he try to intimidate him by pulling rank on him?

 

“The Commissioner’s busy,” he said, nodding his head to the office behind him. “Besides, he will only bounce you back to me, and I’ve got nothing to report.”

 

“Has anything been done? Has anyone talked to her neighbours or…”

 

“The way it looks, this Shields guy didn’t do anything illegal. I know that’s hard to swallow, but that’s the way it is. The woman willingly gave him all her money and then committed suicide. Simple as that. Case closed.”

 

“So the investigation isn’t really pending, is it?”

 

The boy was furious. His face was bright pink, but he didn’t care. Shrugging, he said, “Sure it’s pending. Pending on getting some real evidence.”

 

Zayn glanced around the room for help. He looked at the four men inside the glassed-in office at the back of the station. The man standing behind the desk was evidently Lewis. He was shouting and waving his hands around.

 

One of the other men drew his attention then. Dressed in filthy clothes and leaning against the window, he said something that infuriated the commissioner, who was now pounding the desk and shouting. The tantrum didn’t seem to faze the man.

 

Lewis turned his wrath on the uniformed policeman. Even with the door closed Zayn could hear a few of the vile insults and threats the commissioner was making. The man leaning against the window came to the policeman’s aid. He got in front of him and said something to Lewis that sent him into a rage.

 

Zayn wasn’t about to interrupt. He didn’t want to have anything to do with this Lewis guy, and he certainly wasn’t going to ask him for help.

 

Deciding that he’d done all he could, he picked up his briefcase and left the station. The second he reached the sidewalk, he pulled out his cell phone and called Gigi.

 

“I talked to Detective Sweeney.” He announced.

 

“And?” she asked excitedly.

“The man’s a mess.”

 

“That’s what Lou said about him,” she said. “But was he useful? Did he give you any information that might be helpful?”

 

“No, nothing,” he said. “I don’t think anything’s been done. He couldn’t have cared less about poor Mary Coolidge.”

 

“You read the journal didn’t you?”

 

“Yes, I did. This Shields guy needs to be stopped.”

 

“Which is why you went to the police station to find out…”

 

“Gigi, there is no investigation under way.”

 

“Did you talk to Lewis?”

 

“No,” he said. “He won’t help. He’s worse than Sweeney, if such a thing is possible.”

 

“I thought you didn’t talk to him.”

 

“I saw him in action,” he said. “He was screaming and carrying on.”

 

“Exactly what did Sweeney tell you?”

 

Zayn walked along as he related the conversation he’d had with the obnoxious detective. “I’m telling you, it was a complete waste of time.”

 

He ended the call just as he turned the corner. He thought he heard someone shout and instinctively turned around.

 

The crash was unavoidable.


	7. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So as I said before...It's slowly building until they meet...

Liam Payne was in a hurry to get to his car and drive so that he could get out of the filthy clothes he was wearing. He felt as if he had bugs crawling all over him, and all he wanted to do was take a hot long needed shower. He was all but running as he turned the corner and nearly walked over the guy standing there.

He hit him hard. His briefcase went flying in one direction, and he went flying in the other. Liam caught him around the waist and lifted him before he went headfirst into the brick building.

Liam held on to steady him and that’s when he saw his face. Damn, he was pretty. Smelled nice too. Unlike him who probably smelled awful after his overnight in the garbage.

He released his hold, picked up his briefcase, handed it to him, and then stepped back. “Sorry about that.”

The guy nodded to let him know he’d heard his apology. He couldn’t speak. He looked into his eyes, tried to smile but it turned out as a pained expression, he then whipped around and walked away as fast as he could.

Zayn took deep, gulping breaths, trying not to gag. The stench radiating from the man made his eyes tear. He burst out laughing. When he looked back, he noticed the man was still watching him.

He smiled but turned the corner and began laughing again. The man with the beautiful white smile reminded him of a childhood trip to the zoo. His brother Harry had taken him when he was seven or eight years old. He remembered they’d gone inside a big, grey stone building. It was crowded and musty inside, but at the end was the new gorilla habitat. The finishing touches hadn’t been put on the gorilla’s new home. There was a double set of bars separating the gorilla from the crowd, but a thick, unbreakable Plexiglas pane hadn’t been installed yet. Zayn pulled away from Harry and ran, darting in and out of the crowd to get there before anyone else noticed there was room right in front of his cage. He made it all the way to the first set of bars before the smell knocked him to his knees. The stench was overpowering, and he began to gag. Harry had to pick him up and carry him outside for fresh air.

He still remembered the horrible odour from the gorilla’s cage. The man he’d just run into smelled much worse.

Laughing about the old memory put Zayn in a much better frame of mind. Unfortunately, his good mood didn’t last long.

As he was making his way to the body shop as he planned, another man twice his size bumped into him.

 _What am I? A ghost?_ He thought. Twice in one day men had tried to walk through him.

This one didn’t bother to apologize. In fact, he seemed to deliberately step on his foot. He never looked back as he hurried down the street. His toe stung where he’d stomped on it, and he walked at a slower pace toward the Shop.

 _The day was only half over and things could improve,_ he told himself. _Stay positive!_

Then he walked into the shop, and staying positive just wasn’t possible. The salesclerk, a woman wearing the name tag, “Ms. Patsy,” was leaning against the cash register and talking on the phone. She had the receiver cradled in the crook of her shoulder while she filed one of her fingernails.

Ms. Patsy’s face was such a bright red she was obviously worked up about something. She spotted Zayn, impatiently waved at him to wait, and continued her conversation. The woman was in her late forties, but she was babbling on the phone like a teenager. She was apparently talking to a friend, filling her in on the latest gossip she’d heard about another woman named Jennifer. Zayn wasn’t trying to listen in, but he couldn’t help overhearing a little of what she was saying, and he was shocked by the woman’s cruel remarks.

Zayn moved down to the end of the glass counter so he wouldn’t have to listen, and after waiting for several minutes, he picked up the bottle of lotion and turned to go to another counter. Ms. Patsy shouted to him to wait, hung up the phone, and rang up the sale. Resentment simmered in her sour expression as she handed the package to Zayn, and without a word, walked away. Zayn was annoyed by the woman’s rudeness.

 

He was actually relieved to get back to the hotel and his office, but the day didn’t get better. He spent the rest of the afternoon putting out one fire after another.

 

He worked until six, then ran up to his suite to freshen up, and was back downstairs by the door waiting for Louis by six-fifteen. His friend arrived by cab, which meant the old Ford was on repair again. Zayn called for his car before going outside to greet his friend.

 

“What is it this time? The radiator?”

 

“Muffler,” Louis called out as he crossed the pavement. “I’ll buy a new one tomorrow and install it this weekend.”

 

When Zayn’s car was brought around, the doorman rushed to hold the door open.

 

“I know what you’re thinking, Terry,” Zayn said as he slid behind the wheel of his twenty-year-old Turbo R Bentley.

 

The doorman grinned. “You really should think about replacing it.”

 

“Are you kidding? It’s in mint condition.” Louis had leaned across the seat to offer his professional opinion.

 

Gigi wasn’t waiting out in front of her apartment building when they pulled up. They had to circle the block three times before she appeared. Zayn had been telling Louis about the rest of his horrid day and how he was losing faith in his fellow man, but once Gigi got in the car, Zayn didn’t get in another word on the drive to Ian’s House, ten miles away.

 

The parking lot adjacent to the conference centre was full, so Zayn circled the park, looking for a space. The dim lighting made it difficult for her to see. Gigi was directing from the backseat. “There’s one … no that’s a driveway. Never mind. Keep going.”

 

“Look at that idiot jogging down the middle of the street. Is he trying to get killed?” Louis said.

 

“I’ve got to start running again,” Gigi said. “I’ll run with you, Zayn, on the university path.”

 

“I don’t go there anymore,” Zayn said. “Not since the indoor track was finished at the hotel. It’s much more convenient.”

 

“I’d work out more often if I had a gym in my house,” Louis said.

 

“When have you ever worked out?” Gigi asked.

 

“I work out,” Louis countered. “I just don’t do it consistently.”

 

Gigi laughed. “If you’d only get into shape, you wouldn’t have to diet every once in a while.”

 

Louis cut her off. “Bitch, you jealous of the ass!”

 

“I’m just saying Lou…”

 

“You were going to tell us your big plan.” Louis changed the subject.

 

“What?”

 

Louis patiently repeated the reminder.

 

“Oh, my God,” Gigi said. “I forgot.”

 

Zayn looked at her in the mirror. “You forgot your big plan?”

 

“No, I forgot to tell you what happened today. You’re not going to believe it.”

 

“So tell us,” Louis demanded.

 

“Mary Coolidge’s neighbour finally called me back. I’ve left at least ten messages for the man over the past couple of weeks and was about to give up, but as it turned out, he was out of town, and that’s why he didn’t call.”

 

“And?” Louis prodded.

 

“You know that Shields always has two assistants flanking his sides?”

 

“Yes,” Zayn said. “Mary wrote about them in her journal.”

 

“They’re really his goons.”

 

“Goons? Who says ‘goons’ these days?” Louis asked with a laugh.

 

“Mary’s neighbour,” Gigi said. “He called them goons. Now, pay attention. Mary told her daughter that Shields said he’d hired the two men as bodyguards. She was afraid of them and said they seemed to enjoy intimidating people. They even went so far as to wear sunglasses day and night.”

 

“That’s ridiculous, only douchebags wear sunglasses at night…” Zayn said, “well and people with certain condition… but if you’re healthy enough…” he shut up as he spotted a car backing out of a parking space, put his blinker on, and pulled in.

 

“So what did the neighbour say?” Louis asked. He was getting a crick in his neck looking at Gigi.

 

“He was letting his cat in when he saw two men walking up Mary’s drive.”

 

Zayn turned the motor off. “And you think they went to her house to threaten her?”

 

Gigi nodded. “This is all speculation, but …”

 

“But what?” Zayn asked.

 

“But I think she told Shields she was going to the police, and he sent his goons to dissuade her.”

 

“I guess that’s possible,” Louis said. “But it’s going to be tough to prove.”

 

“Does the neighbour remember when the men were there?” Zayn asked.

 

“He’s pretty sure they were there the night Mary killed herself. I think they went there to terrorize her, and she thought that taking the pills was the only way out. Either that or …”

 

“Bloody hell, G, quit making us guess,” Louis said. “Or what?”

 

In a near whisper, Gigi said, “Maybe they forced her to take those pills, and they stayed there until she was unconscious.”

 

Zayn shook his head. “Think about it, Gigi. What was the last entry in her journal?”

 

Louis answered. “Too late. They’re coming.”

 

“And the handwriting was pretty loopy, wasn’t it?”

 

“It was all over the page,” Louis said, “suggesting that Mary had already ingested pills.”

 

“Unless they forced her to take some pills, then let her have a break so she could jot down a few thoughts in her journal, and then forced her to take more, I’d have to say …”

 

“Okay, that theory doesn’t hold up,” Gigi said. “But if Shields’s men went there to threaten her …”

 

“That would be very difficult to prove,” Zayn said.

 

“If we got a photo of the bodyguards and showed it to this neighbour …” Louis began.

 

Gigi slapped the headrest behind Louis and made him jump in his seat. “That’s exactly what I was thinking. Only, the thing is …”

 

“Yes?” Zayn asked.

 

“The neighbour isn’t so sure he could recognize them,” she said. “He told me he didn’t get a real good look at their faces, but I still want to show him a photo just in case.”

 

“So that’s it? That’s the big plan? Get a photo of the goons?” Louis asked. “We could just drive up to the circle drive, sit in the car, and when they come out, click, click. We’ve got our photos.”

 

“No, there’s more,” Gigi said. “First, we go in and I pay our fees.”

 

“You’re not paying for me,” Zayn objected.

 

“You’re not paying my fee either,” Louis said.

 

“You’re doing me a huge favour. You’re giving up your weekend to help, so no more argument. Paying the fees is the least I can do as a thank-you. I’m going to pay in cash,” she added in an attempt to deflect further argument. “I don’t want Shields or his people to have access to any accounts, so I don’t want to pay by check or credit card.”

 

“Oh my... Are you telling me you’re carrying three thousand pounds in your purse?”

 

Gigi grinned. “There wasn’t room in my bra, so, yes, it’s in my purse.”

 

“Who carries that kind of cash around?” Louis asked Zayn.

 

“Apparently Gigi does,” he answered.

 

“My father carries ten times that amount in cash all the time,” Gigi commented.

 

“G, how can you afford to pay three thousand pounds?” Louis asked. “You make less than I do.”

 

“Daddy.” She confessed.

 

“You told me last month you weren’t ever going to take any more money from him, remember? You were determined to make it on your own.”

 

“It was an early birthday present,” Gigi defended. “He just purchased another vacation home, and for tax purposes put that one in my name too. Daddy has enough money stashed away to last three lifetimes.”

 

Although they had known Gigi since kindergarten and were her best friends, Zayn and Louis still didn’t know what her father actually did for a living. Every time one of them asked him, he came up with a different answer. Either he was changing occupations once a month, or he was making it up as he went along. For a long time, Zayn thought he was in banking, and Louis believed he was a real estate mogul. Now that they were older and had heard all the rumours and speculation, they knew Gigi’s father was into some shady dealings. He was always cooking up one scheme after another, and they now worried that it was only a matter of time before one of his schemes backfired.

 

Zayn worried about Gigi. As sophisticated as his friend considered herself to be, she was horribly naive about her father. And extremely protective.

 

Louis looked as if he wanted to continue to argue. Zayn was determined to get his friends back on track: “What’s the plan once we’re inside the conference centre?”

 

“We join the reception and … look around.”

 

Zayn glanced at Louis. “What do you mean ‘look around’?” he asked.

 

“Yes,” Louis said. “Exactly what are we looking for?”

 

Gigi grabbed her purse and opened the back door. “His computer. I’ve done some checking and know the registrations and records are computerized. I also found out he carries a laptop computer with him and I’m hoping that sometime this weekend we can get to it.”

 

“Uh-oh, I don’t like the sound of that,” Louis said.

 

“You can’t be thinking about breaking into his computer,” Zayn said, he began sweating at the mere thought of it, not only was it illegal but also dangerous if they got caught by one of the so called Shields goons.

 

Gigi laughed. She waited until both of her friends had gotten out of the car before answering. “No, of course not. I don’t have the skill to break into his computer. Louis will have to do it.”

 

“No way. I’m not doing anything illegal.”

 

“I need to get into his records,” Gigi argued. “It’s the only way I can find out about the other women he’s scammed.”

 

“His bodyguards aren’t going to let any of us near his computer,” Zayn argued.

 

“We’ve got all weekend to try.”

 

“Gigi, please tell me there’s more to the plan than breaking the law,” Zayn said.

 

“Of course there is,” Gigi said. “We’re here to investigate. We’re going to talk to every person who signed up, and maybe someone knows something that will help us.”

 

“Like what?” Louis asked.

 

“Like who Shields has been seeing,” she said. “We have to play this by ear.”

 

“Sounds like we’re playing it by the seat of our pants,” Louis said.

 

“How does she talk us into these things?” Zayn asked. He was trying not to laugh.

 

“She always makes her plans sound … reasonable.” Louis helpfully answered.

 

“Hello. I’m right here. I can hear you.”

 

Louis and Zayn ignored her. “It’s a lousy way to spend the weekend,” Louis complained.

 

“But it’s for a good cause,” Gigi said, she pointed her index finger at them. “And it’s too late to back out.”

 

Louis shook his head at her antics and looked up at the sky. “It’s going to rain.”

 

“Are we going to stand here all night or what?” Zayn asked.

 

Louis and Gigi took the lead across the dark parking lot. Zayn’s ankle was throbbing, so he walked at a slower pace, trying not to limp. He cursed himself for putting too much effort on his leg today.

 

“Slow down,” Louis said. “Zayn’s having trouble with his ankle again. When are you going to get that surgery?”

 

“Soon,” he said. So they wouldn’t nag him into doing what he wasn’t ready to do, he switched subjects. “My car needs an oil change. Are you up to it, Lou?”

 

“Sure. I’ll do it next weekend.”

 

Gigi rolled her eyes. “You spend more time under the hood of a car than a mechanic, Louis. I swear, I’m never going to understand the two of you. You can afford any car you want, and yet you both drive old heaps. But then, I guess we know why Zayn keeps his heap.”

 

“Harry.” Zayn and Louis said his name at the same time.

 

“It makes him crazy, doesn’t it?” Gigi said laughing. She hurried ahead and waited at the door for her friends to catch up. “Okay, gentlemen. Time to concentrate on the task at hand.”

 

Ian’s House was an old stone building that had seen many uses in its lifetime. It now served as a facility for seminars and retreats. The interior was a pleasant surprise. Newly remodelled, the marble floors gleamed against the soft, warm beige of the walls. The registration table was on the opposite end of a rectangular foyer.

 

A woman in her thirties, wearing the name tag “Dana,” sat behind a table handing out registration forms. She wore a bright blue flannel blazer. Behind her, dangling down from the balcony, were two twelve-foot-long banners. Each had a life-size photo of Shields. In both banners, Shields wore the same blazer and the same smile.

 

“Is the guy a psychologist or a realtor?” Louis whispered.

 

Gigi nudged him. “Notice the laptop?”

 

“It’s on the table right in front of me. How could I not notice? Do you want to distract her so I can grab it and run?” Louis asked sarcastically.

 

“Get with the program,” Gigi whispered.

 

All three of them filled out their registration forms. Gigi handed them to Dana.

 

“The fee’s a thousand pounds for each of you, dear.”

 

“Yes, we know,” Gigi said as she handed the wad of cash to the woman. Dana took her time counting the bills. Satisfied the amount was accurate, she typed their names from their registration cards into her computer, pushed a button, and the printer on the table behind her immediately spit out three receipts. “Dr. Shields is in the living room with some of the other participants. We’re having a welcome reception, and you won’t want to miss it. The doctor does such marvellous exercises.”

 

“Exercises?” Zayn asked.

 

“Challenges,” Dana corrected. “Mental challenges. That’s what Dr. Shields calls them. He helps you pull out all the anger and bitterness and hostility that’s eating away at your creativity, and once you’ve gotten all that poison out, you can move in a more positive direction. He really changed my life,” she added. “And he’ll change your life too if you work with him and trust him.”

 

Zayn mustered up a big fake smile. “Oh, I want to change. I really do. That’s why I’m here.”

 

“Me too,” Gigi gushed.

 

Dana eagerly nodded. “The reception is being held down the hallway and around the corner, behind a double set of doors. You don’t know how lucky you are guys. It’s a real bonus that the doctor isn’t just mingling. He’s already hinted that he might do a couple of exercises tonight. It wasn’t printed in the program. Dr. Shields is so busy these days with all the demands on his time, but he loves to be spontaneous when he can schedule it on his calendar.”

 

“He schedules spontaneity?” Zayn asked, trying not to laugh.

 

Dana was enthusiastic. “Oh yes he does.”

 

Zayn turned to leave. “Wait,” Dana called out. “I forgot to give you your packets.” She handed each of them a blue folder. “There’s a notebook and pen inside the folder so you can write down the doctor’s words of wisdom. No tape recorders or cameras allowed inside. Now, if you have any questions or need anything, all the personnel are dressed in identical blue blazers like the one I’m wearing. We’re all here to help make this seminar a fabulous experience for you.”

 

“I’m sure it will be,” Gigi said.

 

Zayn walked ahead down a wide hallway, turned the corner, and came to an abrupt stop. “Wow,” he whispered.

 

There, adjacent to the double doors was an impossible-to-miss, eight-foot-tall cardboard cut-out of Shields. A full-colour body shot had been done, and with his bright blue blazer and dazzling, obviously capped, white teeth, he really did look like an advertisement for a real estate agent who had just made the deal of a lifetime. One of Shields’s eyelids was lowered ever so slightly, as though the photographer had caught him in the middle of a wink.

 

“Think he likes himself?” Louis asked.

 

“He’s an egomaniac,” Gigi said.

 

“Do you think he’s wearing coloured contacts?” Louis asked.

 

“Have you ever met anyone with cobalt blue eyes?” Zayn responded.

 

“Good point.”

 

Louis stepped forward to open the door when Gigi stopped him. “Hold on. I have to turn my tape recorder on.”

 

“You better sit up close to him,” Zayn said.

 

“I’m sitting in the back,” Louis said.

 

“Okay. Let’s do it,” Gigi said as she opened the door.

 

The living room was surprisingly large and very crowded. There was a long, cream-colored sectional in front of the stone fireplace, and easy chairs were grouped in pairs around the room. Folding chairs lined the back walls.

 

At least eighty percent of the participants were women, but there wasn’t one age group that was more prominent than another. Zayn had assumed most of the registrants would be men and women going through some kind of midlife crisis, but he was wrong about that. There were just as many young women and several who were well over sixty.

 

Gigi headed to the front and squeezed in between two men on the sofa facing the fireplace. Both men were happy to accommodate her.

 

Louis spotted two empty folding chairs in the corner against the back wall. He nudged Zayn. “Follow me.”

 

Zayn hurried after his friend, took his seat, and then gave Shields his full attention. The psychologist stood in front of the massive stone fireplace. He was an imposing figure. Tall, tanned … or was that makeup he was wearing? His bodyguards were easy to spot. They stood like robots at opposite ends of the hearth. They weren’t wearing sunglasses, and their eyes were constantly scanning the audience.

 

“They’re creepy,” he whispered.

 

“The bodyguards?” Louis asked.

 

“Yes.”

 

“So is Shields. Is he wearing makeup?”

 

“I think so.”

 

The psychologist didn’t look like a monster, just a vain, fifty years old con artist trying to be twenty again. Mary Coolidge had written that he was the most charismatic man she had ever known. Maybe it was because Zayn was inclined to dislike him, but he couldn’t find anything charismatic about him.

 

Louis nudged him. “You know who he kind of reminds me of?”

 

“Who?”

 

“Your stepfather.”

 

“Another reason not to like him,” Zayn replied.

 

Shields did have a dazzling smile. He had moved to a corner of the room and was surrounded by adoring women. He suddenly motioned for the women to take their seats. He waited until they had found spots, then strode back to the centre of the fireplace. A hush fell over the group.

 

“It’s Showtime,” Zayn whispered.


	8. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have you seen Liam's interview in hot ones... he was so cute.  
> Back to the fic ... hope you enjoy this chapter...

Shields began his greeting. He had a melodious, hypnotic voice.

 

Louis nudged Zayn. “One of the bodyguards, the guy on the left, has been staring at you since you walked in. What’s his problem?”

 

“Ignore him,” Zayn said.

 

Shields clapped his hands. “The early bird gets the worm, as my grandmother used to say. Tomorrow there will be five hundred people in the auditorium. Space is at a premium here, so I had to limit the number at this conference, but because you men and women came early and paid your fee, I decided to have this little get-together. If more show up tonight, we’ll open those doors and expand. Now then, let me tell you what you’ll learn during this weekend.”

 

He was droning on and on, so Zayn phased out. He pulled his photo from the pocket of the folder and compared the likeness. Close, he thought. He decided to do something useful in this wasted time. He flipped the photo over to jot down some reminders for himself.

 _“Call security and talk to them about Peter Morris,”_ he wrote. Then, _“Talk to Harry about the Kevin problem.”_ Zayn looked up and scanned the audience. Shields certainly had a way with the participants. Most of the women seemed captivated by what he was telling them. Some were actually leaning forward in their chairs as though subconsciously trying to get closer to him. He turned his attention once again to Shields, and after listening for ten minutes, concluded his unrehearsed speech consisted of two themes, fear and greed. Yes, Shields insisted, they really could have it all. They deserved to have it all. But first they needed to rid themselves of the poison inside them.

 

A hand shot up. Shields took a step forward, paused to flash a smile, and then said, “Yes?”

 

A woman bolted to her feet. She asked, “I … I’m not sure I understand. I know you said we had to open our minds to new opportunities and that we must first get rid of the poison inside?”

 

When she hesitated, Shields said, “Yes, that’s right.”

 

“Well … the thing is … I didn’t know I had poison inside.”

 

Shields dramatically waved his hands. “Everyone in this room has poison inside them.”

 

“But that’s just it,” the woman said. “What do you mean by poison?”

 

He obviously expected the question. Clasping his hands behind his back, he took another step forward.

 

“Look how close he is to Gigi,” Louis whispered. “Her tape recorder must be getting every word.”

 

“I think the woman who just asked the question is a plant. What do you think?”

 

“Maybe so,” Louis agreed.

 

“Have you ever been hurt by anyone,” Shields asked the woman. “Hurt deeply?”

 

Who hadn’t? Zayn thought about Dennis and was suddenly interested in what Shields had to say. The woman who’d asked the question lowered her gaze, and a faint blush covered her cheeks. “Yes … I’ll bet most of us in this room have been hurt deeply,” she said as she nervously glanced around. “My boyfriend … he cheated on me, and he didn’t care how much he hurt me. He … used me.”

 

“And you took that hurt and buried it deep inside, didn’t you?” Shields nodded sagely and looked over his audience. “How many of you have been in hurtful relationships over the years? How many have endured betrayals from family and those you believed were your friends? How many time life had failed you even though you worked very hard to deserve a break?”

 

Hands were shooting up all over the room. “Shields has them eating out of the palm of his hand,” Louis whispered. “Uh-oh. That bodyguard is still staring. Put your hand up.”

 

Zayn dutifully put his hand up. A shiver ran down his spine the longer he watched Shields. He was smiling like the Joker now.

 

“I believe that all those painful experiences have turned into drops of poison inside you, eating away at your potential, your creativity, your passion for life.”

 

“But how do we get rid of this poison?” another woman called out.

 

“I’ll show you,” he said. “By the time this seminar is over Sunday evening, you’ll be cleansed and ready to take on the world. I guarantee it.”

 

He paused again, and then in a voice as smooth as honey said, “Why don’t we do a little exercise? Everyone, take out your notepad and pen. You’ll find both inside your folder. We’re going to make a list.”

 

He motioned to the bodyguard on his right. The brawny man immediately knelt in front of the fireplace and turned the gas jets on. Seconds later a roaring fire was heating up the already warm room.

 

“Better get our notepads out and look eager,” Louis said. “It’s hot in here,” he added.

 

“Ready?” Shields called out. “Now, here’s what I want you to think about. How can you make the world a better place for you? Would you be happier, more fulfilled, more joyful, if the people who have hurt you no longer existed? What if you could wave a magic wand and poof,” he said, snapping his fingers for drama, “they’re gone … forever. Would you be better off without them? If you could get rid of the poison inside you, would you be happier? If you believe you would, write down the names of those people you want to vanish.”

 

Zayn couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He wasn’t the only one. A timid hand went up.

 

 “Excuse me, Dr. Shields. Did I hear correctly? You want us to? You want us to make a … murder list?”

 

“That’s not what he said,” a young man shouted.

 

Shields put his hands up. “You can call it whatever you want. Those of you who are a bit squeamish, think of it as a list of the people you simply wish to never see again.”

 

The woman clutching the notepad couldn’t seem to digest what she was told to do. “Okay. So you want us to write down the names of people we wish were … dead.”

 

“Yes, that’s exactly what I want you to do. If those people who have injured you no longer existed, then wouldn’t you be able to get rid of the poison inside you?”

 

“Yes … I guess … but …”

 

Another man shouted, “I’m gonna need more paper.”

 

Nervous laughter followed his comment. “Is there a limit on the names?” he asked.

 

“Write down as many names as you want. I do think for this exercise we’ll have a time limit. Ten minutes,” he said. “Shall we get started?”

 

He stretched his arm, stared down at his watch, and said, “You may begin.”

 

A man sitting in front of Zayn whispered, “This is going to be fun. I’m going to start with my wife.”

 

“You mean your ex-wife,” the woman sitting next to him said.

 

“Oh, that’s good. I’ll put her on my list too.”

 

Louis looked appalled. “Can you believe this? Shields has turned the group into blood thirsty ghouls.”

 

“Shut up,” Zayn whispered. “We better act like we’re with the program. Start writing.”

 

“No matter how obscene this exercise is?”

 

“No matter.”

 

“Well, then …”

 

“Well, then what?”

 

Louis smiled. “Might as well have a little fun.”

 

They both pulled out their notepads. Zayn wrote across the top of the paper, “Deadpool” he smirked as he liked the comics and underlined the words twice. Underneath he wrote, “People I Want Dead.” Now what? Stalling for time, he tapped his pen against the folder until the man in front of him turned and frowned.

 

“Do you mind? You’re distracting me.”

 

“Sorry,” he whispered.

 

He had a feeling the bodyguard was still watching him. Maybe he was being paranoid. He brushed his hair out of his eyes and looked up, then quickly lowered his head. Nope. Not paranoid. The creep was still staring. What was his problem?

 

“Five more minutes,” Shields called out. “And then I’ll circle the room and I want everyone to hold up their notepads so I can see the number of names.”

 

Fuck. Zayn began to write. Shields, bodyguard one, and bodyguard two all made his list. Who else? Ms. Patsy, that rude saleslady. Oh, yes, he mustn’t forget that horrible Detective Sweeney. The world would definitely be a better place without him. He was about to add Lieutenant Lewis too because he’d been so vicious to that young man, but time was up.

 

He’d had no idea he was so bloodthirsty. Shields clapped his hands. “Pens down. Everyone hold up your notepad so I can see them. That’s right. Good. Good,” he praised. “Everyone participated. Now here’s what I’d like you to do. One by one come up to the fireplace. Tear the paper out of the notepad and shred it. Then you’ll throw it in the fire and watch the flames devour the names. Shall we begin?”

 

“Will that get rid of the hurt and the poison?” a woman asked.

 

“It’s a symbolic gesture,” Shields explained. “Meant to open your mind to all the possibilities.”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Louis asked.

 

“We get to open our minds to the possibility that we could kill all of our enemies,” Zayn explained with mock enthusiasm.

 

“Shall we begin?” Shields called out.

 

Gigi was the first in line. She was smiling at Shields as she walked past.

 

“Un-oh, Gigi’s flirting,” Louis whispered. “And Shields is loving the attention.”

“How can she? He’s so … repulsive.”

 

“This is bullshit. Can you believe he actually charges money for this?”

 

“Shields said there were five hundred people signed up for this seminar. Multiply that number by the thousand pounds each paid, and …”

 

“He’s making a bloody fortune.”

 

“I can’t believe we’ve committed an entire weekend to this.”

 

“Let’s get in line and then get out of here. I’m starving.”

 

Zayn had just picked up his briefcase when his cell phone rang. The sound earned him a glare from both bodyguards.

 

He answered the phone, quickly gathered up his things, and went out into the hallway while Louis got in line to toss his list in the fire.

 

Kevin was on the line. He was giving him an attitude again and didn’t waste words.

 

“You didn’t give me Harry’s latest notes,” he snapped. “And as a result, the last meeting was a complete disaster. I’m not going to be able to do my job if you continue to play these childish games, Zayn.”

 

“I’m certain Henry printed out everything that was e-mailed,” he said. “I didn’t erase it, and I’ll be happy to check again when I get back to the hotel, but…”

 

“I expect those papers on my desk tomorrow.”

 

“I’m sure everything my brother sent was printed,” he repeated.

 

“Do I have to talk to Harry about this?”

 

Zayn looked at his phone screen in disbelief, he counted to five so he wouldn’t say something offensive to the jerk. It didn’t help. “Please do.”

 

He snapped the phone shut and stood there glaring at it. “Oh, you are so going on my list,” he muttered. He wished he could have fired Kevin right then and there, over the phone. He couldn’t, though. He didn’t have the authority.

 

Thunder rumbled close by, interrupting his mental tirade. He shoved the phone into his bag and went back inside to find Louis and Gigi so he could get out of there before his mood completely soured. He was pulling the heavy door closed behind him when he noticed one of the bodyguards was down on his knees in front of the hearth turning the gas jets off. He guessed he’d missed the fire cleansing ritual.

 

Zayn couldn’t find Gigi, but Louis was where he’d left him, still sitting in the uncomfortable folding chair against the back wall. He sat down beside him and whispered, “Could we leave now?”

 

“In a minute,” Louis said. “Shields is telling us what he thinks is a super-inspirational story about one of his students.”

 

“Students? He teaches a class?”

 

Louis shook his head. “He’s calling us his students. All the people who have attended his past seminars are former students. How can anyone with half a brain fall for his act? He’s such a fraud.”

 

“Look around,” Zayn whispered. “The room’s full of unhappy people desperately wanting to change their lives. He’s telling them what they want to hear.”

 

“He also gives them someone to blame instead of taking responsibility for their own behaviour. Gigi was right. He does prey on the vulnerable.”

 

“I’m going to ask Hazz to fire Kevin,” Zayn said.

 

Louis bolted upright. “Really.” he looked thrilled.

 

Zayn repeated the conversation he’d had with the obnoxious assistant. “What would you do?”

 

“Make Harry fire his skinny little ass,” he whispered. “You should hire his next assistant. He’s obviously looking for the wrong type.”

 

“What type is that?”

 

“Young, handsome, blond, thin …”

 

“What do you care what he looks like?”

 

Louis shrugged. “I don’t care,” he said quickly. “You’re the one complaining.”

 

Zayn sighed. “I can’t fire him. He doesn’t work for me. Besides, Harry needs help …”

 

“So? Get someone else to help him.”

 

Shields’s volume increased as he finished his story. Applause followed. He waited for the noise to die down, then announced that the spontaneous session was over and to please mingle. Within seconds the psychologist was surrounded by women fighting for his attention.

 

“Is it raining?” Louis asked.

 

“Looks like it. I’ll go get the car and pull up under the overhang. You find Gigi and drag her outside if you have to,” Zayn said.

 

He gathered up his things, tucked the folder under his arm, and headed out. The mood in the room was still jovial, many of the participants laughing nervously and talking with one another. Such eagerness, such hope, he thought. He was sure he heard Gigi’s distinctive laughter. How in heaven’s name could she stomach being so close to Shields?

 

Zayn seemed to be the only person in a hurry to leave. The lighting on the entrance and around the building was minimal. He could barely see his hand in front of his face.

 

If he had been a pessimist, he would have thought the rain had been waiting for him, because the second he stepped out from under the overhang, the soft drizzle turned into a downpour.

 

He sprinted across the parking lot, the rain pelting his face. Since he hadn’t thought to bring an umbrella, he used the blue folder to try to block the raindrops so he could see where he was going.

 

By the time he reached the park, his ankle was throbbing. He considered stopping and taking a break, but it was only about fifty yards to the car, and he didn’t want to stop. He already had his car key out. It was attached to a bracelet chain. Zayn had slipped the chain over his wrist so he could grip his briefcase as he ran.

 

Zayn was about twenty-five, maybe thirty, yards from his car when he thought he heard someone shout his name. Zayn automatically whipped toward the sound. A striking pain shot from his ankle and spread over his whole leg and he went down hard. Crying out in pain, he let go of his briefcase and the folder to brace against the fall. He was used to having these shocks of pain—it happened at least once a month—but the pain usually went away after a couple of seconds. This time was different; it was excruciatingly unbearable.

 

Half the contents of his briefcase scattered on the sidewalk. He knelt on one knee as he scooped up his small notebook and wallet. Someone shouted at him again. It was a high-pitched voice, or was that the wind playing tricks on his pain boggled mind? He strained to listen for the sound as he stuffed the wallet back into the case and staggered to his feet.

 

Nothing. Just his imagination, he decided. All he wanted to think about was getting out of the rain.

He heard him coming before he saw him.


	9. Chapter Eight

A week had passed since the incident with the runner, and the police hadn’t pounded down his door and dragged him away. For seven days and nights he’d vacillated between stark terror and sheer joy. He’d wake up during the night and think, oh, God, what have I done? But then he would hear the demon whisper.

 

We’ve gotten away with murder my precious.

 

It was Friday, and the beast was stirring. He had to go hunting again. His last venture out had nearly ended in disaster, but he hoped he had learned from his mistakes and would do better this time, for he couldn’t afford to fail again. Yes, he would be better prepared tonight. In anticipation, he’d packed dark jogging clothes, a new baseball cap and black running shoes. He’d stored the gear under the seat in the back of his car, along with thick, non-prescription, horn-rimmed glasses, a dark brown wig and the essential pair of new black gloves. He’d even purchased glue and a beard at a novelty store, trimming it just right.

 

He still felt he could subdue anyone, but he slipped a knife into his pocket just in case. He spent hours figuring out his approach, trying to cover every possible angle. When he was finally dressed and ready to leave, he took a minute to stand in front of the mirror in the upstairs bathroom and look at himself. He was pleased with what he saw. Why, his own mother wouldn’t recognize him.

 

The demon would be pleased too.

 

One thing was certain. He couldn’t return home with more scratches on his face and arms. He could lie well when he had to, but the scratches had drawn attention to him and that was inexcusable. He simply had to be more careful. Whenever he thought about that first deadly encounter, he broke out in a cold sweat. He had come so close to getting caught, so very close.

 

Tonight would be different. He had been lucky the last time, but he wasn’t about to rely on good fortune coming to his aid again. He had most assuredly learned from his mistakes. Blend in. That was number one on his list. And so tonight he was pretending to be a jogger. He was in wonderful shape, of course. All those nights at the gym—had he been preparing for this and not realized it? He had become a bit obsessive, but now he could see he had started his training when he’d lifted that first ten-pound weight.

 

Finding the chosen one turned out to be surprisingly easy. He practically strolled up to his car and tapped on his window. That’s how close he was. He walked out the door of the hotel with a friend just as his car turned the corner. And, oh, what a sight. “Perfect,” he whispered. “Absolutely perfect.”

 

A car backed out of the alley across the street, so he was able to stop and stare at him without drawing attention. He even rolled his window down in hopes of getting a whiff of his perfume.

 

He was going to follow him and wait for his opportunity, but once again, he got lucky. He heard one of the attendants shout to another, asking if he knew the quickest way to get to Ian’s House. His car pulled away, and he tried to tail him, but he lost him when he turned off to the highway. He drove on to Ian’s House, found a parking spot a quarter of a mile away, and then jogged back to the conference centre.

 

Adjusting his cap over his wig, he circled the building twice, taking his time as he surreptitiously checked out the area. He’d hoped there would be a jogging path close by so he could pretend he was headed toward it, but there wasn’t. Just streets, parking lots, and a little park in between.

 

The lighting outside the conference centre was quite poor, which he found to his liking, but light did spill out from several windows and the front door as men and women hurried inside. He hung back in the shadows of the trees. He was afraid his chosen one might have gone inside while he was circling.

 

He waited another half hour or so and then he got nervous. Was he there? He backtracked once again, ran through the parking lot, and finally found the chosen one’s car on the opposite side of the park.

 

“Yes,” he whispered, weak with relief. It was okay. He was inside.

 

He didn’t have to wait much longer. He was looking for a better spot to watch the entrance of the building when, he glanced up, and there he was. Before the door shut behind him, he was surrounded by a halo of light. He actually gasped at his sheer beauty. He blinked, and for a second his face magically changed, and he saw his beloved Noah. He blinked again and saw now only the man. What had caused his mind to play such a trick? Perhaps it was his dark hair. Perhaps, too, it was because he was the one, the perfect chosen one.

 

He felt the tightness gathering in his chest. Suddenly, he heard a sound behind him. He was clearly visible where he stood, and so he quickly knelt on one knee, pretending to tie his shoes, while the stranger, carrying a sack of groceries, passed him. He kept his face averted until the man disappeared. A clap of thunder ripped the sky. He knew he had to act fast. The wind had picked up and was howling. He pulled his baseball cap down farther and took a deep breath just as the clouds opened.

 

The man was ahead of him now his long legs marching fast. He stepped out of his hiding place, oblivious of the wet slap of the rain against his cheeks, and watched him. Appreciated him. In the misty light from the streetlamps his skin looked golden.

 

A golden boy, that’s what he was to him, the prize he would snatch in just seconds. He tried to savour every little detail about him. He wanted to remember everything, the way he held himself, the way he smelled, the way he felt when he grabbed him.

 

He had such beautiful strong legs. He was so like his Noah before the accident. Yes, just like him. Like his dear husband, he moved with elegant grace, his head held high, his hips gently swaying.

 

His mind rebelled against making the comparison, or was that the demon cautioning him not to think such dangerous thoughts? No, he couldn’t possibly compare to his Noah. There was business to be done. Quid pro quo. With that singular thought in mind, his hand slipped into his pocket, his fingers coiling around his new knife … just in case.

 

He took that first step toward him and shouted, “Wait!” he didn’t slow down, and so he ran at him and shouted again. This time he heard the fury in his voice.

 

He turned, his gaze catching him as he pivoted.

 

He stopped so suddenly he actually rocked on the balls of his feet. In horror, he watched him fall. His left leg simply folded underneath him, as though his bone had melted. He crashed to the pavement and cried out in pain.

He put his hands over his ears to block the sound. It all seemed to transpire in slow motion, just like the car accident of years past. Exactly like that. The tortured look on his beautiful Noah’s face before the metal imploded on his legs.

 

His mind couldn’t take it in. What had just happened? He staggered back, then stopped. The poor thing. He was in pain, his leg useless now, and, oh, he was so like his Noah.

 

He should help him, shouldn’t he? He knew he wasn’t making any sense. Why did he have this nearly overwhelming desire to help someone he was so determined to destroy?

 

He didn’t know what to do. He stood there looking at him. He backed farther away but continued to watch him struggle to get up. Twice he almost made it before he collapsed again. Poor, poor thing. He thought he might be crying, but the wind snatched the sound before it reached him.

 

He couldn’t stop staring at the boy in agony, and the boy kept his eyes locked on him while he tried to get back on his feet. There was a connection between them. He felt it in his heart and in his soul where the demon lived.

 

The golden boy broke eye contact first, turned, and limped away like a wounded animal, his open briefcase dangling from his hand.

The wounded boy was headed to his car. He could hear the demon’s voice chanting in his ear. Get him. Get him. Get him. He bolted after him. He could hear himself panting as he closed the distance.

He was almost on top of him when he was suddenly blinded by bright lights. What the …? Ducking his head down, he turned, desperate to find the darkness again.

He hit something slick, went flying, and crashed into a tree, his right shoulder bearing the brunt. Cursing his own clumsiness, he looked down and saw what he had slipped on. It was a folder with papers spilling out. He bent down, hurriedly shoved the papers back inside, thinking he could use the folder to lure him out of his car.

He picked it up and shouted to him again, but he wouldn’t stop. Too late. He was too late. He was already backing his car out of the parking space.

Filth spewed from his mouth, obscene words he hadn’t even known were part of his vocabulary and he had certainly never uttered before. He found it impossible to stop the foul litany. He was losing control of himself, could feel himself slipping away, acquiescing to the demon.

Concentration was difficult, and he tried with all his might to focus. The car that had blinded him had its blinker on, obviously waiting for her parking space. His beautiful, golden prey had stopped. Why wasn’t he leaving? What was he doing?

He ran across the lot keeping his prey’s car in sight. The lights made him squint. He reached up to pull the bill of his baseball cap down lower. The cap was gone.

Could he see him through his disguise? Could he see his hatred? He wasn’t moving. What could he be doing? Oh, God, a cell phone. He was probably calling the police. That’s what he was doing.

He panicked. He actually ran around in a circle while he tried to think what he should do. If he was calling the police, how long would it take them to get here?

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. The cap. He had to get his baseball cap back—it had his fingerprints all over it—and then he needed to get out of the park.

He raced back to the tree he’d crashed into, dropped to his knees, and began to search in the dark. What’s this? His hand curled around a silver cell phone, and his heart leapt with joy. He hadn’t called the police. When he’d dropped his folder, he’d also dropped the phone. Yes, yes, it had to be his.

Relief flooded over him until he remembered he needed to find his cap. Where was it? Frantic now, his mind screamed hurry, hurry. And then he found it and let out a low, anguished sob. Jumping up, he started running to safety, clutching the folder and the cell phone and his cap in his hands, his mind in such a confused state, he could barely concentrate.

He couldn’t hear himself think. The roar of the demon blocked out all other sounds.

***

The man came out of nowhere. He was running toward him. Zayn could hear his footsteps on the pavement as he was turning. His face was twisted in rage. He was a big, muscular man. What was he doing? And why was he so angry?

His mind tried to make sense out of why he was there. He was probably a jogger who just got caught in the rain. Maybe he was trying to get to his car just as he was trying to get to his, and when he turned toward him, he was surprised him that he’d stopped.

No, no. There was something all wrong about him. Without understanding why, he knew the anger was directed at him.

His instincts were screaming at him to get the bloody hell out of there. Fear, a powerful motivator, overrode the pain in his throbbing ankle as he struggled to get up off the ground.

His car key still dangled from the bracelet on his wrist. It was a miracle it hadn’t slipped off in the fall. The car was safety. Run, his mind screamed. Run.

The rain was pouring now. Head down, he stumbled to get to his car.

Was the angry man coming after him? Zayn dared a quick look back. Fuck, yes, he was running towards him, closing the distance.

Wait. He was waving something at him and shouting at him to stop.

No, no, it was wrong. It was all wrong. Faster, he had to run faster. His brother’s warning popped into his head. Danny had always told him that when in doubt, go with your instincts, and right now his instincts were screaming at him to get to safety.

He finally made it to the car. The key nearly fell out of his hand when he pulled the coiled bracelet off his wrist, but he grabbed it in time. His hands were slippery from rain, and he was shaking so much it took him two tries to get the key in the lock.

The man was almost there. Zayn swung the door open, dove inside, threw his briefcase out of his way, and pulled the door closed. Twisting around, he hit the lock button down with his fist.

He didn’t take time to catch his breath. He shoved the key into the ignition and started the engine, turning the bright lights on as he backed out. His foot slipped off the pedal.

“Oh, God,” he whispered. He was standing just twenty, perhaps thirty feet away. The light shone on his face, and the expression on the stranger’s face terrified him. He didn’t move. Zayn frantically wiped the rain away from his eyes.

Zayn blinked once and he was gone.

He grabbed his briefcase from the floor and frantically dug through it, searching for his cell phone. Where was it?

A car behind him honked. Louis and Gigi … they were waiting for him to pick them up. And the lunatic was out there.

He gripped the steering wheel and drove like his brother Danny to the conference centre. Harry was right, he thought. He did need a new car, one with power locks and an alarm. It had been childish for him to hang on to the old clunker just to spite him.

His friends were standing on the porch waiting for his arrival. Zayn put the car in park and slid across the bench seat to unlock the back door for Gigi. He rolled the window down and called out to Louis, “You drive.”

“What happened to you?” Gigi asked, and after she got in, she scooted to unlock the driver’s door for Louis. “Your face is grey.”

“I fell. Actually I—”

Gigi interrupted. “You hurt your ankle again, didn’t you? Did it just give out on you?”

“Yes, but …”

“You really should get that fixed,” Louis said. He was adjusting the mirror.

“Stop interrupting and listen. Something happened. Gigi, give me your phone. I can’t find mine, and I need to call the police.”

His voice trembled as he related what had happened. Although it seemed odd to him, retelling was almost as frightening as the experience itself, because he now realized how close he might have come to fending off a madman.

Louis was so shocked by what he was hearing that he grabbed Zayn’s hand to comfort him.

“Thank God you got away from him,” he whispered.

Gigi wanted more details. “Could you identify him if you saw him?”

“I don’t know. Yes … maybe. I was scared. I turned and there he was. He wore thick glasses.”

Louis found his cell phone and handed it to Zayn. “Call right now and tell them there’s a lunatic roaming around the conference centre.”

“I’ll bet he’s long gone by now,” Gigi said.

“Are you saying he shouldn’t call?” Louis asked, ready to argue.

“Of course he should call, but after you give the police the description, tell the officer we’re on our way to the police station. There’s one about two miles from here.”

“Let’s get out of here,” Louis said. He put the car in drive and headed out while Zayn made the call.

“We’ve got to get some ice on Zayn’s ankle,” Gigi said. “And the sooner the better.”

Zayn motioned for his friends to be quiet when the phone was answered. He worried he would end up talking to another detective like Sweeney, but fortunately, the officer who took the call was efficient and polite. As soon as he explained what had happened, he dispatched policemen to the conference centre to search for the man.

“I think he believed me, but I don’t know why,” Zayn said after he had ended the call. “I rambled, didn’t I?”

“A little,” Louis said.

“Turn left at the next corner,” Gigi directed. “There’s a store where we can get him an ice pack, and a police station is just about a mile farther down that street.”

“How come you know where all the police stations are?” Zayn asked.

“Not all of them, just some,” she corrected. “I’m going to be an investigative reporter, remember? It’s good to know these things.”

“I liked Officer Morgan,” Gigi said an hour later as the three left the police station.

Zayn was replaying what he had said and shaking his head over his descriptions. “I sounded like an idiot. There was a man … dressed like a runner,” he quoted himself. “He appeared out of nowhere and I fell, and I think he might have been chasing me. But then again … maybe he wasn’t …”

“You were smart to run, Zayn,” Gigi said. “That’s what Officer Morgan said. You went with your instincts.”

“He also said there hadn’t been any problems at the centre in over a year.”

“You still did the right thing,” Louis said. “You reported the incident, and if he’s some kind of looney, which, by the way, I think he is, they’ll be on the lookout for him.”

“Could we not talk about this anymore?” Zayn said. “How about eating in the hotel dining room? I’ll get you both settled at a table in the restaurant, run upstairs to change out of these wet clothes, and we’ll have a nice dinner.”

“I don’t think you’re going to be able to run anywhere,” Louis said. “And you need to keep ice on that ankle.”

“Then come up to my suite, and we’ll order some room service.”

They both agreed, and the rest of the evening was blessedly uneventful. As far as Zayn was concerned, the matter was closed.


	10. Chapter Nine

He had blown it. After all the worrying and the planning and the practicing, he had let him get away. He’d worked so hard. It wasn’t fair. No, it wasn’t fair at all. It was his mission to take his life, his duty.

 

He’d tricked him into feeling confused and sympathetic when he’d fallen. He’d blindsided him. Yes, that’s exactly what he had done.

 

He pulled the Jeep over to the curb, put it in park, and began to pound the dashboard with his fists. He knew he was behaving like a child having a full-blown tantrum, but he didn’t care. He had failed. He kept beating the console until the shaking subsided. By the time he was able to think clearly again, his knuckles were raw.

 

Panic didn’t set in until he’d reached the safety of his garage. He stayed in the car until the garage door was down and he was safe inside his frigid cocoon. And still he didn’t move. He leaned against the seat and closed his eyes while he thought about his situation, his mind jumping from one thought to another. He knew it was only a matter of time before the police found the accident he’d buried. Would they connect him to that crime? If they did, he’d be locked away for the rest of his life, and his Noah, how could he exist without him?

 

Stay cool, he told himself. There would be other chances. He wouldn’t get caught. The beast wouldn’t let that happen. It was going to be okay.

 

He continued his internal monologue as he crept through the house and opened the bedroom door to check on Noah. He was sound asleep. He quietly closed the door and went into the laundry room just off the kitchen. He stripped out of his clothes, tossed them into the washer, and grabbed the box of Tide.

 

His mind wouldn’t quiet down. He analysed his poor performance this evening, and he was appalled and disgusted. He had to do better next time. Had to.

 

He couldn’t stop thinking about him. He kept picturing him, his beautiful angel with the broken wing, falling, so gracefully tumbling down. Had he heard him cry out, or had he only imagined he had? His chosen one, his perfect angel, was innocent, as innocent as his beloved Noah.

 

He closed his eyes and bowed his head. He had seen him weep, and his heart ached for him. He was so confused, torn between worrying about him and raging because he had gotten away.

 

“Can’t have it both ways,” he whispered. And he knew, in his heart he knew, that he had to appease the demon.

 

Stark naked, he went back into the garage. His chest and arms were covered in goose bumps. There was a small mirror propped on a shelf near the door. He paused to admire himself. His body was that of a Greek perfection, he thought with a great deal of pride. He’d worked hard to get it that way. Flexing his muscles, he smiled at his reflection.

 

He stood there a full minute before he turned away. He had the sudden urge, no, need, to look at the other boy’s things, just to make sure they were where he’d hidden them in the small wooden crate with a stack of rags on top. The crate was tucked in the corner. It wasn’t a very clever hiding place, and tomorrow he planned to move the box.

 

The hammer and the boy’s driver’s license were just where he’d put them. He still wasn’t sure why he’d taken them, but he couldn’t make himself get rid of them just yet. He picked up the license and read his name. Holden Cross. In the photo, he was smiling. The picture he had of him in his mind was a face contorted in terror. He dropped the license in the box and picked up the hammer.

 

The sound of a phone ringing close by jarred him. He whirled around with the hammer upraised in his hand. It took him a second to realize the noise was coming from his Jeep. Of course. The golden boy’s phone. Someone was calling him. He waited, frozen, with the hammer in mid-air, until the ringing stopped. He found the phone and the folder on the backseat.

 

Shivering from the night chill, he hurried into his kitchen. He placed the phone and the folder on the table, went to the sink to wash his hands and clean the cuts on his knuckles, and then made himself a drink.

 

He dropped into a chair and opened the folder. He spread the contents across the table and began to read.

 

***

 

Liam Payne was one of the last passengers to leave the plane. A flight attendant had to wake him. He’d fallen asleep about ten seconds after he had clipped on his seat belt and stretched his long legs in a poor attempt to get comfortable.

 

Liam could sleep anywhere, anytime, much to his sister, Nick’s consternation. Nick was afraid to fly and went to great lengths to avoid it, which, of course, made her the source of many family jokes. Liam didn’t mind flying at all, though he thought the flight from London to Wolverhampton was too short. Since he’d stayed up most of the night with cousins and two sisters catching up on all the news, he would have liked a much longer nap.

 

He knew he looked like hell. He hadn’t shaved since his interview with the Interpol Thursday morning. He was pretty sure the job was his if he wanted it. Ward Dutton, the head of the special crimes division, had been actively recruiting him for over a year and had all but guaranteed that he’d be based out of London.

 

That was just one of the many incentives for taking the job, but even if he didn’t make this move, he still needed to find the time to go home more often. He missed his family.

 

Over the weekend, the entire Payne clan had gathered at their parent’s home to celebrate their father’s birthday. Nick and her husband, Laurent, had brought their baby girl to the house for the first time.

 

While he was there, Nick, along with his other sister, Thea, worked on Liam to accept the offer from the Interpol. They tried to convince him that it was a family obligation. Thea was an attorney with the Justice Department, and Nick had been an agent for a special branch of the Interpol for many years. Liam did love London, and Nick, now that she had a family and needed a bigger place, was offering him a great deal on her town house.

 

It was time for a change, and Liam had a lot to think about. Being back home had been wonderful, even though he’d taken quite a beating playing rugby with all of his cousins. Ironically, the bruised shoulder that hurt the most had actually been inflicted by one of his sisters.

 

It was raining when he drove away. Traffic was a bitch. He took shortcuts back to his apartment, unpacked, and put on his favourite pair of worn-out jeans. He was about to check his messages when his old partner, Gil Hutton, called. Gil had recently retired but still kept his fingers in the gossip pie. Liam swore Gil was clairvoyant. He knew things before they happened.

 

Gil didn’t waste words on pleasantries. “I got the lowdown on Lewis.”

 

“Yeah?” Liam laughed as he opened the refrigerator and took out a beer. He popped the tab, and took a long swallow. He could just picture Gil rubbing his head—a habit that used to drive Liam nuts—and gloating. The man loved to gloat when he had hot news.

 

Liam was feeling a little guilty because he hadn’t confided in his friend about leaving the department. He had good reason. Liam knew Gil wouldn’t be able to keep quiet about his interview with the Interpol.

 

“Lewis was real pissed you fought him about firing that rookie. Know how he’s getting even?”

 

Liam was suddenly weary. He dropped down on the sofa and closed his eyes. God, how he hated politics. “How?”

 

“If you try to get a transfer out, he’s gonna block it.”

 

“I didn’t put in for a transfer.”

 

“Yeah? Why not? I just assumed …”

 

Gil’s radar was up. It wouldn’t take him long to put two and two together and figure out that Liam was leaving.

 

“I haven’t had time to do the paperwork,” he said. That much was true, he thought. He hadn’t had time.

 

“Well, Lewis will block it. I just thought you should know.”

 

Liam didn’t ask him where he got his information, but he thought Gil must spend most of his day on the phone, gathering little intel.

 

“You need to get a life.” Liam commented.

 

His ex-partner ignored the comment. “Lewis is a real prick.”

 

“Yes,” Liam agreed. “And a game player.”

 

Worse, he thought, the Commissioner didn’t back up his men the way he should. He hung anyone in trouble out to dry, like the young policeman who really hadn’t done anything wrong except had the bad luck to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

 

“He’s lost the respect of his detectives,” Gil remarked.

 

“He never earned our respect. So tell me. Did he block the kid’s transfer?”

 

“That kid is only four years younger than you are.”

 

“Yeah, but he doesn’t have my experience or cynicism.”

 

“Lewis wasn’t able to block that one. Hey, you want to grab a beer down at Finnegan’s?”

 

“Not tonight.”

 

“Maybe tomorrow night then? I want to hear your theories about Detective Sweeney.”

 

“What about Sweeney?”

 

“You didn’t hear?”

 

Liam was losing patience. “Hear what?”

 

“Oh, man, I thought you knew, but of course you couldn’t have heard since you’ve been in Wolverhampton. Don’t you check your messages?”

 

“I was about to when you called. So tell me. What about him?”

 

“He was murdered last night.”


	11. Chapter Ten

Zayn had really made a mess of his ankle. As much as he wanted to, he knew he couldn’t put off the surgery any longer. He called the orthopaedic surgeon’s office Monday morning, fully expecting that, because of his busy schedule, he wouldn’t be able to get to him for at least a month or two. That would give him sufficient time to get ready mentally and physically. As it turned out, he had a last-minute cancellation Tuesday morning. He didn’t tell anyone except Henry, his loyal assistant, because he didn’t want his brothers or his friends worrying about him.

The doctor was able to do arthroscopic surgery, which meant a much shorter recovery time. He only had to use crutches for two days, and after two additional days of taking it easy, he began physiotherapy.

He had just finished a workout to strengthen his ankle when Gigi and Louis stopped by his suite in the hotel.

“I’m still angry with you, Zayn,” Gigi said. “We had to find out you had surgery after the fact.”

Louis agreed. “You’d be furious if Gigi or I did that to you.”

“You’re right. I was wrong,” he said. “I just didn’t want you to worry, and it was no big deal.”

“I don’t care if it was a big deal or not. You should have told us,” Gigi argued.

“I don’t know what irritates me more. That you had surgery without us, or that you bailed on that bloody seminar where we had to listen to that quack doctor do one stupid exercise after another. It was the most miserable weekend of my life.” Louis complained.

“It was pretty awful,” Gigi agreed. “After the seminar, I talked to Shields’s people about refunding your fee, but they refused. I told them you had hurt your ankle, but they weren’t at all sympathetic. The woman told us Shields has a strict policy. No refunds. How come I’m not surprised?”

“I demanded to talk to the doctor himself,” Louis said, he had spotted a candy dish on the credenza and was sorting through the hard candies looking for peppermints.

“And that’s when we found out Shields has gone to his vacation home. Dana said he needs his alone-time to rejuvenate. I translated that to mean he needs time to come up with more idiotic exercises.”

Zayn nodded. “I don’t think he can top the people-I-want-dead list.”

Gigi grinned. “That one was really kind of fun.”

“Who did you put on your list?” Zayn asked. “Anyone I know?”

Gigi’s eyes widened. “Of course not. That would have been … barbaric. I made up names. And they all rhymed.”

“What about you, Lou?”

“The Seven Dwarfs,” he said with a short chuckle.

Zayn’s face was turning red with embarrassment. Louis noticed. “You wrote real names, didn’t you?”

He didn’t have to answer. They both knew he had. He waited until they’d stopped laughing and said, “Okay, it’s official. I’m a complete idiot. It just never occurred to me to make up names. I guess I was stressed at the time.”

“Which brings me to my proposition,” Gigi said. She gave her friend a sly grin and continued. “I think we should take a vacation. I’ve rented a condo, and it’s right on the beach. It would do us all good to get away. You could use a rest, Zayn.”

“Where is this beach?” Zayn asked suspicious.

“The Caymans,” she answered. “So, what do you say? I’ve called the airline, and we can leave this evening.”

Zayn glanced at Louis, who was looking sheepish, and then turned back to Gigi. He recognized that look in her eye.

“So, what’s the real reason, Gigi?” Zayn asked. “Something’s up. I can tell.”

Gigi confessed. “Well … I did some digging. And guess where Dr. Shields’s vacation home is?”

Zayn caught on quickly. “The Caymans,” he answered. He turned to Louis. “And you’re in on this?”

Louis nodded. “I know. I can’t believe I’m just dropping everything and running off to the Cayman Islands.”

“Daddy says that lots of people use the Cayman banks to hide their money from their spouses or creditors—”

“Or the HM Revenue and Customs?” Zayn asked.

“Definitely,” Gigi said.

“And you’re sure that Shields is in the Caymans now?” Zayn asked.

“He’s been spotted on the beach behind his house,” Gigi answered confidently.

“What do you mean, _‘he’s been spotted’_? How would you know…”

“Daddy gave me the name of a guy to call, and he was happy to check. Shields is there, all right.”

“How long are you going to be gone?” Zayn asked.

“We’ve got the condo for two weeks,” Gigi said. “It all depends.”

“Can you take that much time?”

Louis answered. “Why not? Gigi’s a good two months ahead with her column, and I’m officially through with school until next term. I’ve got the entire summer off to work on my dissertation, but I’m not going to take any work with me. I plan to sit in the shade and relax. This constant rain is depressing, and when I get depressed, I eat.”

“I wish I could go with you, but I can’t,” Zayn said. “The art auction is coming up. I can’t miss it, and I’ve got to get ready for the annual family meeting.”

“I don’t know why you bother,” Gigi said. “Your vote doesn’t count for anything. Niall always votes with Harry, Danny abstains, and you’re always the dissenting vote. You don’t have any power…”

Louis interrupted. “You know that’s not true. Harry can’t start another hotel without all four signatures. He has the power to stop any kind of expansion. Without his vote, everything comes to a complete standstill.”

“But I won’t do that,” Zayn said. “I want more money for the art projects Henry and I started last year. You’ve seen the response. It’s been phenomenal.” He sighed then. “We’re getting off the track. I’ve got to write a report to justify the increase I want, and that’s going to take time. I really wish you’d go somewhere else for a vacation.”

“This isn’t a vacation,” Gigi said.

“It is for me,” Louis countered.

“Shields could be dangerous. If he did send his bodyguards to Mary Coolidge’s house—”

Gigi interrupted. “I know, but I’m not going to back away from this. I’m going to nail him, one way or another.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Zayn said. “Don’t do anything illegal or dangerous.”

Gigi shrugged. “He stood me up, you know.”

“Excuse me?” Zayn said.

“The last day of the seminar, he asked me out … to dinner,” she said. “And I agreed. We were supposed to meet at the top of the Hyatt, and I waited for over an hour. He never showed.”

“You agreed to go out with that creep?” Zayn asked.

“I didn’t agree to go to bed with him, so stop looking so horrified. We hadn’t been able to get into his computer or find any records at the seminar. I just wanted to get close to him so I could—”

“Get to his records?” Louis asked. “Gigi, you need to start thinking things through.”

“Have you got any better ideas?”

“What will you do when you find him in the Caymans?” Zayn asked.

“I don’t know yet,” Gigi answered, “But I’ll think of something.”

***

It was Zayn’s first full day back at work and Henry, bless his soul, was driving him nuts trying to pamper him. He hovered like a doting grandmother. He wouldn’t even let him reach for a pencil. Fortunately, he had a full schedule and several errands to run that morning. As he was leaving, he asked Henry to stop by the parking garage and get his cell phone from his car. He was sure that’s where he had left it.

The second the door closed behind him, Zayn turned back to his desk. He was determined to clear his piling e-mails as quickly as possible. He’d finished thirty without interruption, took a break to answer phone calls and eat lunch, and then went back to his task.

The next e-mail was from Henry. Whenever henry received anything he thought Zayn would be interested in, he forwarded it to his computer. The subject line was blank, and when he scrolled down, there was just an attachment, but no typed message from Henry. That was a bit strange. He assumed he’d been in a hurry.

He clicked on the attached photo and waited.

Henry walked into his office just as the picture appeared on the screen.

“Your phone wasn’t in your car. I looked under the seats, between them … hey, Zayn, what’s the matter. Are you sick?”

“Oh, my God …” he was so repulsed by what he was looking at he couldn’t go on.

Henry ran around the desk. He stopped short when he saw the screen. In front of him was a picture of a dead man, hanging by a thick rope from a beam in a basement somewhere, his face grotesquely swollen. His eyes were wide open, and his flabby skin was a chalky blue.

“Gross,” Henry whispered. “What kind of pervert would send …”

“The e-mail came from you,” he said.

“No way would I send anything like this.” Henry said.

Zayn nodded. “Someone must have gotten hold of our private e-mail addresses.”

Henry pointed to the screen. “It’s not real,” he said. “Someone’s just playing a sick joke on you. Get rid of it,” he added as he reached for the delete key.

Zayn pushed his hand away. “I know this man.”

“What?” Henry asked eyes wide.

“I know him.” Zayn repeated in a barely audible voice.

“People can do a lot of things with a photo and a computer,” Henry said.

“So he might not really be dead?” Zayn hoped.

“Maybe not,” he said. “I think we ought to call the police and let them figure it out.”

Zayn pointed to the screen. “He is the police.”


	12. Chappter Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys thank you for all the comments  
> I'm glad your enjoying it   
> *kisses*

Liam Payne headed over to the Styles hotel to talk to Zayn Malik, the nutcase who had called the office and asked to speak to Detective Barney Sweeney. When told by the operator that Sweeney wasn’t available, he’d asked if that was a permanent or a temporary situation. And that’s when Detective John Wincott and Detective Liam Payne got involved.

The operator had told him that either the man who’d called or his assistant would meet Liam in front of the elevators on the south side of the lobby. He spotted a young man dressed in khaki pants and a navy blue blazer shifting from foot to foot in the elevator alcove and headed toward him. He looked like a bodyguard, maybe even a former basketball player, but when Liam got closer to him, he saw how very young he was. Hell, he was just a teenager.

“Detective Payne?”

“That’s right.”

The young man stepped forward and thrust out his hand as he introduced himself. “My name’s Henry Porter, and I’m Zayn’s … I mean, I’m Zayn Malik’s assistant.”

The kid was nervous. Liam acted as if he did not notice. “So where is …” he caught himself before he’d almost called Henry’s employer a nutcase. Not too diplomatic, he decided. “Where’s Mr Malik?” he began again.

“Oh, Mr Malik Styles,” he corrected. “He isn’t married, you know, he just keep his mother’s name as well, well they all do. I thought he might get engaged a while back, but it didn’t work out, and I was real happy about that.” He grinned and added, “I guess that isn’t important, is it?”

“Probably not,” Liam said. “So tell me. Why were you happy he didn’t get engaged?” He thought maybe Henry had a crush on his employer and wondered if he’d admit it.

“The guy was only after his money.”

“He has lots of money?”

Henry realized he was speaking left and right. “You’ll have to ask him about that. He’s waiting for us in his office on the third floor. He’s making sure no one touches his computer. If you’ll accompany me.”

“He’s guarding his computer?”

“Yes, sir.”

Henry was wearing a key on a long silver chain. As soon as they’d stepped inside the brass-plated elevator, he inserted the key into a lock and pushed the button for the third floor.

“All the offices are on three,” he explained. “And no one can get off on that floor without a key. It’s for security purposes. There’s a lot of expensive equipment up there.”

Liam filed the information away. At six foot, he barely stood shoulder to shoulder with the kid, and he felt dwarfed by him. Liam had the muscles in his shoulders and upper arms, but Henry had about fifty pounds on him. Still, Liam felt he could take him down if he had to.

Something was making Henry nervous.

“How old are you?” Liam asked.

“Nineteen.”

“You still in school?”

“No, sir. I go to LU here.”

“Do you play basketball?” He spoke the thought out loud.

Henry smiled. “I get asked what position I play and for what team all the time. People make assumptions, like I’m a basketball player or sometimes even a rapper. My sheet’s clean now, by the way.”

Ah, so that what he was nervous about. Liam didn’t smile, but he came close. “Yeah?” he said as the elevator doors opened on the third floor.

“You’ll probably find out anyway,” Henry blurted. He stepped off the elevator and turned to face Liam. “Even though my file is sealed, you’ll figure out a way to read it like they do on those police shows, so I’ll save you the trouble and just tell you. I had a couple of problems when I was a kid. I was hanging with the wrong people. That’s not an excuse. Just fact.”

“Okay,” he said. “So how come you’re so nervous?”

“You,” he stammered. “Well, not exactly you. Police make me nervous. That’s not so unusual. They make my friend Kyle nervous too. And he doesn’t have a record.”

“Your boss called us,” he reminded Henry. “So stop worrying.”

Henry smiled. They had stopped and were now standing in the hallway. “Our offices are down that corridor and around the corner.”

Liam took his time following. He paused at each office door along the way to look inside. When Henry realized what he was doing, he backtracked.

“That office belongs to Zayn’s brother Niall. He’s rarely here, though.”

“That one?” Liam asked nodding toward the office on the opposite side of the corridor.

“That one belongs to Danny.”

Liam made the connection. “Danny Styles, the race car driver?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

They continued on, turned the corner, and then Liam stopped again in front of another suite.

“That one’s Harry’s office. He’s the oldest brother. There’s four in all. Zayn’s the youngest.”

The hall was as luxurious as the lobby. There were fresh flowers in beautiful vases on each table along the corridor. The carpet was a deep red, the walls a white damask.

“Tell me about your boss.”

“What do you want to know?”

“What’s he like to work for?”

“Oh, he’s great, a chill boss.”

“How did you get this job?”

“A teacher in my school had me fill out some forms for an intern program here at the hotel, working with computers. I thought it was a joke because I didn’t know much of anything about computers back then. We had computers in my school, but they didn’t work half the time. Anyway, Mr Malik chose me and had me working day and night all summer long. I even slept at the hotel while I trained, until he found me a family that had an extra bedroom and didn’t mind having an extra kid around. I’ve worked here ever since.”

It sounded to Liam as though the teacher and Zayn Malik had worked together to save the kid’s ass.

“Are you still living with that family?”

“Yes, sir, I am.”

There was a set of double glass doors directly ahead. “That’s my office,” Henry said, pride radiating in his voice. “Mister Malik’s office is behind mine.”

“So anyone wanting to see him has to go through you.”

“That’s right. Except when I’m in class. Then he fends for himself. We do okay.” Henry said with a smile.

“What is it you do for him?”

“Oh, just about everything.”

“Okay. And what is it he does?”

Henry flashed a smile. “He gives money away.” Then he laughed, a deep belly laugh. “I love saying that.”

“Yeah?”

“And it’s true. He really does give money away. Mr. Malik runs the family’s charitable foundation.”

Liam opened the door and motioned for Henry to go first. The kid rushed ahead to stand behind his desk. “This is my work area, my domain,” he said proudly. “It’s kind of a mess now. I was reorganizing.”

There were papers strewn all over the top of the desk. Henry pushed one stack aside and picked up a clipping from the newspaper.

“Here’s a photo of the Styles,” he said. “I cut this out of the newspaper a while back, and I was going to frame it.”

He continued to hold onto the clipping as he said, “It was taken at a dedication of Conrad Park. You know where that is?” He didn’t wait for a response but continued. “The Styles donated all the land and paid for a new jogging trail. Well, actually, it was an old trail that they repaved and expanded,” he said. “They also paid for a beautiful playground with all sorts of equipment for the little kids to climb on. Like it says in the article, Mr Malik Styles used to go running there all the time, rain or shine, but now that the hotel has a track upstairs, he doesn’t have to leave the building.” He nodded toward the article and photo and said, “It was a nice profile of the brothers. I’m saving it because it’s kind of rare for all of them to be together.”

Liam barely glanced at the article. The fact that the Styles were do-gooders wasn’t relevant now.

There was another set of French doors about fifteen feet behind Henry’s desk. Liam could see a young man through the glass. He was on the phone, his back to the door. He ended the call and turned around, then hurriedly walked toward him.

Son of a gun, he thought. He recognized this face. He opened the door and stood there, the worry evident in his amazing eyes, his face flushed. Oh, yes. Same beautiful guy, all right.

Henry made the introductions as Zayn walked forward and offered his hand. His handshake was firm, his smile disarming. Liam smiled back. Might as well start out charming, he decided. If Zayn was a nutcase, which, after meeting Henry, he sincerely doubted, then being charming might make the difference in his continued cooperation.

Apparently Zayn didn’t remember him. Liam thought about it and decided not to mention the fact that he’d nearly run him down on the street last week. If he had remembered the incident, he surely would have said something. He obviously wasn’t memorable; but Malik definitely was.

“You probably don’t recall, Detective, but we ran into each other last week just outside the Met.”

 _What do you know?_ _He did remember._ Liam thought with an internal smile.

“You know him?” Henry asked Zayn.

“Sort of,” he answered. “We did run into each other, and if he hadn’t caught me, I would have been splattered on the sidewalk.”

Liam grinned. “I remember trying to roll over you. You laughed. I remember that too.”

“Yes,” Zayn said. “You reminded me of …”

“Yes?”

He blushed slightly, trying to hide his smile. “The zoo. You reminded me of the zoo.”

“The zoo?”

“You smell much better today.” He said with a small voice.

Liam laughed. “I surely hope so.”

Henry had a speculative glint in his eyes as he watched his boss. Zayn turned to him and asked, “Did you explain to Detective Payne …”

“I thought I’d let you explain. I wasn’t sure what to say.”

Liam’s stare was locked on Zayn. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”

Before he could answer, Henry blurted out, “We don’t know anything about that detective. Isn’t that right, Mr Malik?”

“What’s with the ‘Mr Malik?” Zayn asked confused.

Henry looked embarrassed. “I didn’t think I should call you Zayn in front of the police.”

“How about you sit at your desk while I talk to your employer?” Liam said.

“But I was hoping …”

“Yes?” Liam asked impatiently.

“I was hoping I could stay until you look at the photo and tell us if it’s real or photoshoped. I think it’s phony, but Zayn thinks it might be real.”

Liam didn’t know what the kid was rambling on about. “Go sit,” he repeated. “Now, Mr Malik…”

“Please, call me Zayn.”

“Yeah, okay. Zayn, how about you start explaining?”

“I was checking my e-mails,” he said as he walked back to his computer. The screen was dark until he moved the mouse on the pad. “And this came up.”

Zayn quickly moved aside so he wouldn’t block his view. Liam inwardly winced. The photo wasn’t a pretty sight.

“I wasn’t sure how to proceed,” he said. “I was afraid to save it or forward it because I was concerned that whoever sent it might have built in some kind of virus that would destroy it, so I just left it alone.”

“Good decision.”

“What do you think, Detective? Is it real or fake?”

“Real,” he said. “Definitely real.” There wasn’t any hesitation or doubt in his voice.

“You don’t seem very surprised or … shocked.”

“I’ve worked with the violent crime unit. I’ve seen a dead body before,” he said as he moved closer to the monitor to inspect the picture.

“Yes, of course you have, but …” he pointed to the screen. His casual attitude had rattled him, and he was trying to recover. “But he was also a detective, one of your own, a …” His voice trailed off.

“Yes, he was.”

From what Liam had heard about Sweeney, he was also a nasty son of a bitch who walked around most days in an alcoholic daze. Everyone knew he was on the take and that it was only a matter of time before he got caught.

“Did you know him well?” Zayn asked.

“No.”

Zayn hoped that explained why he seemed so casual about Detective Sweeney’s demise. If not, then Detective Payne had about as much compassion as a fish. Zayn suddenly felt nervous standing so close to him. He was trapped between the desk and the credenza, and unless he wanted to adjust his clothes, he was going to have to wait until Liam moved. The detective did smell a lot better today. In fact he smelled great, like the clean outdoors.

He stepped back from the computer, “Why do you think it was sent to you?”

“I don’t know,” Zayn said wearily. He rubbed the back of his neck as he thought about it. “If you scroll back up, it shows it came from Henry’s computer, but of course it didn’t. Someone has both our e-mail addresses. I’ve been racking my brain trying to make sense out of this. So far, no luck. What is the procedure now?”

“We need a tech,” he said. He pulled out his cell phone and made the call, walking away from him as he spoke softly into the phone. When he was finished, he motioned for Zayn to join him across the room. Two easy chairs faced a sofa in front of the windows overlooking London. Zayn often curled up on the sofa to do paperwork.

“While we’re waiting for the tech, you could tell me about your relationship with Detective Sweeney.”

“That will take all of five seconds. I didn’t have a relationship with him.”

The mere thought was appalling. Though it was wrong to speak ill of the dead, Sweeney was one of the most obnoxious men he’d ever had the misfortune to meet. Still, no matter how repulsive, no one should have to die in such a way.

“Okay,” Liam drawled. He leaned against the window ledge, folded his arms across his chest, and asked, “So tell me how you know him.”

His eyes weren’t missing a thing. The way he was watching him made him even more nervous, but Zayn was determined not to let him know it. He hadn’t done anything wrong, and he won’t let the detective make him feel as though he had.

Zayn went to the sofa and sat down. “I don’t actually know the man. I only met him once, when I went to the police station … the day I bumped into you.”

Zayn tried to get comfortable so he would look calm. One of the pillows was poking him in his back. He leaned forward, pulled the pillow out, and dropped it on the cushion beside him. “I went to the station as a favour for a friend to find out how Detective Sweeney was progressing on an investigation he was supposed to be handling.”

The detective homed in on the key word. “Supposed to be handling?”

“I wasn’t certain if he was looking into the matter or not,” Zayn explained. “But I got the distinct impression he didn’t much care about the case or anything else, for that matter.”

“Tell me about the investigation,” he said.

Zayn pulled on his slacks opened his legs, got comfortable on the couch and leaned back against the cushions.

“Have you ever heard of Dr. Lawrence Shields?”

“No,” he answered. “What kind of doctor is he?”

“A fraud,” he blurted. “At least I think he is.” he shook his head and then said, “He runs those self-help, turn-your-life-around seminars twice a year in London. You’ve never seen his commercials?”

He shook his head. “What about him?”

He explained who Shields was and what he had done to Mary Coolidge. He told him Mary’s daughter had gone to the police and filed a complaint against Shields and that Detective Sweeney had been given the file. “Mary’s daughter didn’t get anywhere with the detective. She went back home, but my friend Gigi read copies of Mary’s diary and decided to get involved. Gigi sent another friend, Louis, to talk to Sweeney about the investigation, and he couldn’t get any answers either.”

“And then it was your turn to talk to Sweeney?”

“Yes. Wait a minute … don’t you see, that has to be it.” he was suddenly too excited to sit still. He stood and began to pace while he worked the hypothesis out in his mind. “It all makes sense,” he said. “There’s your connection.”

“Want to tell me about it?”

“Shields and Sweeney. Maybe Shields found out that my friends and I were investigating him. What if he knew that we were pressuring Detective Sweeney to do his job? Maybe Shields decided to have Sweeney killed to warn us off, and he sent me that photo to scare me.”

He stopped pacing and stood in front of Liam, his hands on his hips as he eagerly waited to know what he thought of his supposition. He didn’t respond quickly enough.

“What do you think? It is possible, isn’t it? Shields manipulated Mary into handing over more than a million pounds. Maybe Shields thought that was worth killing for. And Mary’s daughter believes that Shields drove Mary to suicide, or maybe he had her killed, because she threatened to go to the police. And if he killed once, why would he hesitate to kill again? Maybe Shields thought my friends and I were getting too close.” he put his hands out, palms up. “Maybe that’s our connection.”

Detective Payne didn’t say anything.

“Doesn’t that make sense?”

He couldn’t resist. “Maybe.” He drawled out.

Zayn didn’t realize he was teasing him. He looked extremely pleased with himself. “Okay, then,” he said. “Good,” he added with a firm nod. “Now what?”

He pulled a ragged little notepad out of his suit pocket. “Now we start over.”

“Oh, my God, Louis and Gigi … could I make a phone call first?” he asked. “My friends are in the Caymans with Shields. I’ve got to warn them.” he hurried to his desk.

“Before you leap to conclusions, let’s get a few facts,” he cautioned.

Zayn was already dialling Louis’ cell phone. He was routed to voice mail, which told him that Louis was either using the phone or had it turned off.

“Lou, call me as soon as you get this,” he said. “It’s urgent, and you and G stay away from Shields. Call, no matter what time it is.”

Zayn hung up the phone and walked back to Detective Payne. Liam didn’t ask him what his phone call was about, and he didn’t offer to explain.

“You said we needed to start over?”

“That’s right.” He motioned for him to sit down. “Let’s start with Mary Coolidge.”

Then the questions began, one after another and another. Zayn was beginning to tell him about the reception for Shields that he and his friends had attended when a man and a woman walked into the office with Henry. The woman carried what looked like a tool kit.

Liam grinned when he saw who the tech was. Melissa “What-A-Bitch” Hill. And that was only one of the many colourful names bestowed upon her by various detectives. Hill was a short, angry woman with a buzz cut and premature wrinkles, no doubt caused by her perpetual frown. She was nearly impossible to work with, but also one of the brightest computer techs in the business.

The detective following in her wake was Matt Connelly. He was glaring at Hill’s back, which probably meant he’d had to ride over to the hotel with her. He nodded to Liam in greeting. His gaze moved to Zayn and stayed there. “So what’s going on?”

“See for yourself,” Liam answered. “Look at the computer screen. Hey, Melissa,” he added.

Her grunt was her response. She wasn’t one for chitchat or pleasantries. “Is that the piece of shit computer you want me to take apart?”

Connelly answered her. “It’s the only piece of crap computer in the office. What do you think?”

“Up yours, Connelly,” she replied.

Liam quickly made the introductions. Connelly nodded in response, but Hill ignored Zayn.

They both went to the computer and looked at the screen. Hill didn’t show any reaction, but Connelly visibly blanched. “Jeez. Sweeney naked. Man, that’s harsh. I’m gonna have nightmares.”

Zayn joined them. “Did you say you were going to take my computer apart? Is that necessary?” he asked.

The woman plopped down in Zayn’s chair. A second later her fingers were flying over the keyboard. “If I think it’s necessary, I’ll tear it apart. Now go sit somewhere and let me do my job.”

Zayn was shocked by the woman’s rudeness. He wanted to grab his computer and protect it from her. “My files are all in there and my…” he began.

Liam moved in front of him to block him. “It’s okay,” he assured him. “Melissa won’t destroy your computer. She realizes she doesn’t have the right to touch it without your permission, and she certainly understands the legal ramifications if she were to deliberately break anything. Isn’t that right, Melissa?”

“Up …” She was about to use her standard reply when she glanced up and saw the look in Payne’s eyes. She’d heard he’d been a hard-ass, and she figured he hadn’t lost that mean edge from years of undercover operations. “Yeah, all right,” she muttered in a voice that resembled a pit bull’s growl. “Now, if you’ll leave me alone, I’ll try to get past these walls.”

“Let’s give her some breathing room,” Liam suggested.

Zayn ignored him and thrust his hand out to the tech. He introduced himself once again. Melissa didn’t want to be bothered, but the hand was hard to ignore, since it was just inches from her face. She finally stopped typing and shook Zayn’s hand.

“We were already introduced,” she muttered.

Melissa was a nervous woman. Her fingernails were bitten down to the quick. She gripped Zayn’s hand tightly and then impatiently jerked her hand back.

“Now can I get on with my job?”

Zayn pretended he hadn’t heard the question. “What did you mean when you said you had to get past the ‘walls’?”

Melissa looked resigned. “Whoever sent you the e-mail of Sweeney was a clever one, all right. He knows his way around computers. He’s set up barriers so no one can track it. But don’t worry. There isn’t a barrier I can’t get around.”

“Even with a piece of junk computer like mine?” Zayn asked, smiling.

Melissa chuckled. “Actually, I called it a piece of shit computer, but I was exaggerating. It’s a little outdated. You ought to upgrade.”

Liam was impressed. He’d never seen Melissa smile before, and to listen to her chat it up with Zayn was astonishing. With very little effort, Zayn had cut through all of Hill’s barriers. Definitely impressive.

The photo of Sweeney appeared on the screen again. Melissa pointed to it and said, “That’s just how they found him.”

“I’m sorry?” Zayn replied.

“I heard that’s how they found him, in his basement, hanging like that. Someone called it in, said Sweeney would be there, and he sure was. Pretty awful crime scene, I was told. Sweeney had a lot of enemies,” she thought to add. “There was a rumour he was blackmailing some dealers. Do you know why the photo was sent to you?”

“No, I don’t,” Zayn answered. “It’s grotesque.”

“I’ve seen worse,” Melissa boasted.

“Like your old boyfriend?” Connelly asked.

“Up yours.”

Zayn backed away from the desk and turned toward the windows so he wouldn’t have to look at the photo again. “Did anyone else get this?” he asked. “Or was I the only one—”

Melissa interrupted in a near shout. “I’m in.”

“In where?” Connelly asked. He was squatting down and peering at the blank screen when his cell phone rang. He impatiently answered it as he walked into the outer office.

“The photo was sent from a cell phone,” Melissa said. She rattled off the number as Liam pulled out his notepad again.

Colour left Zayn’s face. “Oh fuck,” he whispered.

Liam heard him. “What? Oh, fuck, what?”

“The phone number … it’s mine.”


	13. Chapter Twelve

Zayn’s theory had loopholes in it. If shields was indeed behind the murder of Sweeney, how did he get hold of his phone? Maybe his theory wasn’t right, after all. He was thinking about that while Detective Payne patiently waited for him to tell him how the photo of Sweeney had been taken with his cell phone. He wanted the answer to that question too.

“It’s your phone number.”

“Yes,” he said. “But I certainly didn’t take that picture.”

Detective Connelly interrupted. “I’ve got ten minutes to get to the courthouse”, he called out as he shoved his cell phone into his pocket and headed for the door.  “You want me to get someone over here to help you?”

“No, I’m good,” Liam answered.

“The commissioner wants to see you in his office as soon as you finish up here,” he added.

That news put Liam in a foul mood. The second the door closed behind Connelly, he gave Zayn his full attention. “Okay, tell me about your phone.”

He assumed he wanted to know the model or the style. “It’s an IPhone latest model,” he said with a brief smile.

“And you don’t remember where you lost it?”

He shook his head. “I thought I had left it in the car, but Henry looked, and it wasn’t there. I don’t know what happened to it.”

Henry heard what he said and rushed over to join the conversation. “That’s right. You can check with the guys in the garage. They all saw me, and I told them what I was looking for. They weren’t surprised. I mean, no offense, Zayn, but you’re always leaving your phone somewhere. It’s thin,” he told Liam. “And it sometimes falls out of his briefcase, sometimes he leaves it open by mistake. One time I found it wedged between the seat and the console. I couldn’t find it today, though. I searched everywhere inside that car, and it wasn’t there.”

He took a protective step closer to Zayn and said, “He isn’t in trouble, is he, just because someone else used his phone? You aren’t going to blame him, are you?”

The kid’s loyalty to his boss was admirable, but at the moment he was also a nuisance. “Last time I checked, losing a cell phone wasn’t a criminal offense. Don’t you have some work to do at your desk?” Liam asked.

Zayn waited until Henry was out of earshot and then whispered, “He’s a worrier. He used to be much worse when he first started here. He’s getting better, but he still worries too much.”

Melissa’s loud grunt turned their attention. The woman was certainly in her element. Her fingers continued to fly across the keyboard in a blur, and every minute or two she would let out a sigh or another crude grunt.

“Should I call and cancel the phone or report it stolen?” Henry asked from the doorway.

“No, don’t do that,” Liam said. “If we’re lucky, maybe he’ll try to contact him again.”

“He’s not going to use his phone again,” Melissa said. “He knows his way around computers, and he surely knows the phone can be easily tracked. The e-mail was sent five days ago, and he hasn’t sent anything else.” Her fingers suddenly stilled on the keys. “Okay, I’ve sent everything on to my computer, and I’m also printing out the picture of Sweeney to take with me. Until further notice, any e-mails he receives will automatically come to me too. That’s all right, isn’t it? I’m going to assume that’s alright.”

Zayn wasn’t paying much attention. He was standing in front of the window looking down at the traffic on the busy streets of London, his mind racing as he tried to remember the last time he used his mobile. He knew Detective Payne would check with for the log of calls coming in and going out, but if he could remember now, it would save him valuable time. Since his surgery, however, the days all blended together, and he hadn’t kept track of his appointments. The grotesque photo of Sweeney was also disrupting his concentration. He hadn’t realized a face could become so bloated. That image kept popping into his mind. It made him shudder.

He didn’t hear Henry come up behind him. He jumped like a kitten when he touched his shoulder.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” He glanced over at Detective Payne to make sure he was still busy talking with the technician and then said, “I just wanted you to know I checked my computer again.”

“What were you checking?” Zayn whispered back.

“I wanted to see if the photo of that dead man was sent to me,” he whispered. “But it wasn’t. I wish it had been. I wish it had been sent to all the e-mail addresses you had programmed into your phone. It’s not good that it was sent just to you.”

He nodded. “I know.” He squeezed Henry’s shoulder to reassure him.

“It was clever, the way he sent it,” he said, “making it look like it came from my computer.”

“I never would’ve opened the attachment if I hadn’t recognized the sender. I guess he didn’t want to take the chance that I’d delete it.”

“I think he’s targeted you for some reason,” Henry said. “But why?”

Liam heard that last comment. “That’s what we’re going to find out.”

Liam was digging through his pocket looking for a card to give Zayn when his mobile phone rang. It was the third call in the past fifteen minutes from the office. Lewis’s assistant kept calling to demand that he get back to the Met as soon as possible. The Commissioner was waiting to talk to him. Liam knew why. Lewis had obviously just found out that Liam had gone over his head to the commander to save the job of the young policeman who had interrupted the operation.

“Aren’t you going to answer that?” Zayn asked.

“I guess I should.” He swiped the phone open, listened for a minute, and then said, “I’ll get there when I’m finished here.” He snapped.

Before the assistant could argue with him, he disconnected the call and turned back to Zayn. He found one of his cards and handed it to him and the latter gave him a grateful smile. What a gorgeous man, he thought. And damn, was he sexy. Another time, another place, and he definitely would have asked him out, but he couldn’t now. Not with an investigation pending. Besides, even if he didn’t get the job with the Interpol, he was still going to give notice and leave London within the next month or two, so getting involved with anyone was out of the question. Unless the person was into casual sex. Zayn Malik wasn’t. He knew that much about him just by being with him for thirty minutes.

He mentally shook himself. He had no business thinking such thoughts now. He didn’t even know if Zayn was into guys, although with the little flirting they did, he was sure there was something. Funny how the mind worked. Guess his sister was right. He was perverted.

“Detective Wincott is running the investigation into Sweeney’s murder,” he said. “I’m helping him out, but he’s a senior man, and he’ll be over to talk to you soon. You’ll want to stay in the hotel.”

“Yes, of course.”

“But in the meantime, if you think of anything else,” he said with a nod toward the card he held in his hand, “there’s my number.”

“I have physical therapy for my ankle in an hour, but I can cancel.”

“I noticed your limp, it wasn’t there when I bumped into you. What happened?”

Zayn was surprised he’d noticed. But then again he was a detective for a reason.

He said what came to his mind. “You noticed it wasn’t there the first time we met? That’s impressive, Detective.” He smiled at him.

Not really, Liam thought. He’d have to be an idiot not to notice those sexy legs of his, he actually had to be an idiot not to notice everything about him.

“Football,” Zayn continued to explain what happened to his leg. “It was an accident. It happened last summer.”

“Football, huh?” Liam smiled. He was having trouble picturing him in a football sportswear fighting for the ball with other guys. He seemed too soft for the sport.

“Yep,” he said. “It was a charity game. Why is that funny?”

Liam didn’t answer. “You injured it last year, and you only just now had the surgery?”

“I was procrastinating, but then I hurt it again …” He suddenly stopped, “What a fucking idiot!” he blurted while slapping his forehead.

“Excuse me?”

“No, not you,” he hurried to say. “Me. I’m the idiot. I know who has my phone. At least, I think I know, and I can’t believe it took me so long to remember. You see, I dropped my briefcase that day, and that’s when I lost it. I’m sorry. I’m not usually so rattled. There was this man. He chased me to my car, and he…”

That statement gained Liam’s full attention. He put his hand up. “Whoa,” he said. “Slow down and start at the beginning.”

“Yes, okay,” he said he tried to calm himself down in order to be able to explain the events correctly. “It was a week ago Friday night. That’s the last time I used my cell phone. I’m sure of it.”

Liam pulled out his ragged notepad again and began to search his pockets for his pen. “And where were you?”

“At the reception.”

“You sound like I’m supposed to know about a reception.” Liam said wearily.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I thought I had told you about that when I was explaining the connection between Sweeney and Shields.”

He didn’t look happy with him, Zayn couldn’t help but blush a little.

“Why don’t you tell me about it now?” he suggested patiently.

Zayn couldn’t believe he’d forgotten about the man in the parking lot, but then, in his defence, he had been bombarded first by the e-mail and then Detective Payne, the technician, and Detective Connelly in the past hour.

He explained as quickly as possible all about the reception he and his friends had attended at Ian’s House. “Gigi had signed us up for Shields’s weekend seminar, and I know I told you that Shields runs two seminars a year in London.”

“What were you hoping to accomplish?” Liam asked his tone going back to professional.

“It was apparent to all of us that Detective Sweeney wasn’t going to do anything about Shields, and so we decided …”

“Yes?”

Zayn shrugged. “To do his job for him.”

His frown indicated he didn’t like hearing that. “And how were you going to do his job?”

“We decided we would investigate Shields and hopefully we would get enough evidence to give to the judge. Gigi was doing the investigative work, and Louis and I went along to be supportive. Actually, we were going to try to find a way to break into his computer so we could get the names of the other women who’d attended past seminars. We thought we could match his deposits with…”

Liam stopped writing to look at him. “You do know that isn’t legal, right?”

“Of course, I know that,” he answered. “We didn’t break into his computer. We just wanted to. That was the plan anyway.”

This guy was endearingly honest to a fault. “It sounds like a half-baked plan.” Liam answered him.

“Yes,” Zayn agreed. “Well, Gigi did come up with it, and she does tend to rush in without thinking things through. She believes things will work out, and the fact is, they usually do.”

Zayn folded his arms and began to pace in front of the window while he thought about that horrible night.

“I remember I had my cell phone with me. We were late,” he said. “But then whenever Louis and I go anywhere with Gigi, we’re always late. Anyway, the reception was in full swing by the time we arrived, and Shields was there speaking to the group. He’s such a fraud and very full of himself. I wasn’t impressed, but judging from the reactions of the people around me, they were dazzled by him. There was this exercise he had us do that was absolutely insane.”

“What about your cell phone?” he said, trying to keep him on track.

“I should have remembered to turn it off, because it rang right in the middle of Shields’s talk. I hurried out to the hallway to answer it before one of his bodyguards tried to take it away from me.”

“Bodyguards?”

“Two of them. He calls them his assistants, but they’re his bodyguards. Real musclemen.”

“Okay,” he said. “So you think you left your phone in the conference centre?”

“No,” Zayn said. “I’m sure I put it back in my briefcase. I think it dropped out when I fell.”

Liam was trying to remain patient. “And when did that happen?”

“When I went to get the car,” Zayn said. “It was raining, and so I told Louis to find Gigi and wait by the front door and I would drive up to get them. I was running along the path to my car, and I thought I heard someone calling my name. The wind was up, though, and it was raining hard, so I wasn’t sure. I turned to look behind me, and there was this man …Everything happened so fast. When I turned, I hurt my ankle again.”

“And you’re just now mentioning this?” He was irritated and making sure Zayn knew it.

“I just didn’t think … I didn’t connect. I was lucky I got away from him.”

“He chased you?”

“Yes. You don’t think …”

“Think what?” he asked when Zayn hesitated.

“Maybe Shields hired him. Maybe he was waiting outside the conference centre because he knew I was inside, and maybe he was there to scare me, which he certainly did.”

“You’re really hooked on your idea that Shields is behind it all, aren’t you?”

“It makes sense, doesn’t it?”

“I’m not going to guess yet because I don’t have enough information to form an opinion, but when I do, I’ll let you know. Now, I want to know exactly what happened from the minute you stepped outside Ian’s House.”

“I just did tell you everything that happened.”

“Tell me again.”

He went through it again just as he’d instructed. “When I fell, everything spilled out of my briefcase, but at the time, I thought I’d shoved it all back in. I must have left the phone on the ground. I was trying to get into my car and lock the doors before the mad man got to me,” he said. “He was holding up something and yelling at me to stop, but I didn’t. There was something all wrong about him.”

“Like what?”

“His face,” Zayn said. “It gives me goose bumps to think about it. I called the police,” he added. “And I went to the police station nearby to make a report.”

“That was good. Now tell me. What about his face?”

“Rage,” he said. “I’ve never seen rage like that in anyone’s eyes. And then the oddest thing happened.”

“Yes?”

“It might be my imagination. I was in pain because of my ankle and soaked from the rain, but when I was inside the car, I looked, and he was standing under the streetlight, still staring at me. I was crying a little,” he admitted with a shrug. “And I think he could see me crying. His expression changed.”

He cocked his head. “Changed to what?”

“Sympathy,” Zayn guessed. “I think he felt sorry for me.”


	14. Chapter Thirteen

The timing couldn’t have been better. Liam was on his way back to the Met for round two with Lewis when the call came in on his cell phone. Ward Dutton, the Interpol agent who had been relentlessly recruiting him, was on the line welcoming him to the Interpol.

Wayne was all but gloating. “I knew I’d get you,” he boasted. “Tenacity,” he said, “I have a load of tenacity. How many years did it take me to get you interested?”

The question obviously didn’t require an answer because Ward, still high on his conquest, continued on. “Training’s going to be tough, but I’m not worried about you. You’ll do just fine. Your scores on that test were phenomenal. You’ve got seventeen weeks of training ahead of you at the secretariat,” he added. “Everyone have to go through it, no matter how much experience they have.”

“Are you trying to get me to change my mind?”

“No, no, of course not.”

“When do you want me to start?”

“New sessions start every two weeks, but I went ahead and slotted you to start two months from now. That’s eight weeks from today. I figured you would need time to pack up everything and tie up loose ends here in London and get a little time off.”

“Yes, that’s good,” Liam said. “Eight weeks will give me time to get organized.”

Like that’s ever going to happen, he thought to himself as he hung up. Though he was extremely organized in his professional life, he was extremely disorganized at home. He was considered the slob of the family. When he was a boy, his room always looked like a cyclone had hit. He’d gotten better about all that, though. He’d hired a cleaning crew to restore his apartment every other week.

Liam felt good about his decision. He knew he was going to miss London, and he had absolutely no guarantee that when he finished training, he’d be assigned to the London office. Ward had told him it was as good as guaranteed, but Liam wasn’t counting on it.

He decided to stop by Human Resources and give his notice before seeing Lewis. The woman behind the desk was a real sweetheart who had been with the department for close to twenty years. She wore such thick bifocals her eyes looked milky and twice their size.

She smiled and shook her head the minute she spotted him. “Oh, no.”

“Oh, no, what?”

“You can’t put in for a transfer. I mean, you could, but it’s not going to go anywhere. Lewis has made it abundantly clear that he needs you in his department.” Her voice softened as she added, “Which means he wants you under his thumb. I’m sorry, Liam. I think just about everyone knows what a worm he is, but he’s got seniority and his wife has connections, if you know what I mean. We’re not going to be able to get rid of him unless he really screws up.”

“I understand. You are going to get rid of me, though. I’m giving my notice today. What papers do I need to fill out?”

She became teary-eyed. “I hate to see you go. You’re one of the good ones.” She pulled a tissue out of the box she kept on her desk and dabbed her eyes. “It’s like the old song, only the good die young.”

He rolled his eyes. “Fuck that. I’m not planning to die young.”

“But you’re leaving.” She sniffed as she opened a file drawer and pulled out the necessary papers.

Resigning turned out to be more complicated than Liam had anticipated. There were all sorts of forms to fill out and a long conference with the commander, who was determined to talk him into staying. What Liam had naively estimated would only take a couple of minutes dragged on for over an hour.

By the time he got back to the office, Lewis had worked himself into a fury. He was on the phone, but the second he spotted Liam making his way across the room, he jumped up and angrily motioned for him to come in.

Liam was halfway there when his cell phone rang. He knew it couldn’t be Lewis’s assistant calling him yet again because he’d just passed the man on the steps.

Gil was calling. The second he heard Liam’s voice he exclaimed, “Say it isn’t so.”

Liam was impressed. “How did you find out so soon?”

“You know me. I’ve got my sources. It’s true then? You’re really leaving the Met?”

“Yes,” he said. “I’m about to go in and tell Lewis. I’ll call you later.”

He ended the call and walked into Lewis’s office. The lieutenant tenant had a white-knuckle grip on the receiver. Liam shoved his hands in his pants pockets and patiently waited until he ended the conversation.

“Yes, sir,” Lewis said, his voice a tight whisper.

The call finally ended. As Lewis slammed the phone down, Liam casually asked, “You wanted to see me?”

“You know bloody well I want to see you,” Lewis shouted. “I’ve been waiting for over an hour. My reasons have changed, however.”

He stood there glaring at Liam for what seemed like a full minute. Liam wasn’t fazed. He simply stared back.

“You resigned.”

“Yes.”

The vein running down Lewis’s forehead began to pulsate.

“And you didn’t think you owed it to me to give me your notice first? I had to find out about it over the phone from my superior?”

By the time he finished his question he was bellowing. The vein in his forehead was going wild. Liam couldn’t stop staring at it. If Lewis had a heart attack and suddenly stopped breathing, would Liam give him CPR? Hmm … definitely not, Liam thought.

He continued to contemplate the philosophical not to mention moral dilemma while Lewis ranted and raved.

“Do you know what that made me look like? Emmett is furious with me,” he said, referring to the city commander.

Liam shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you,” he drawled. He’d be damned before he’d apologize for making the jerk look bad.

Three more weeks with Lewis calling the shots suddenly seemed like an eternity, and Liam wondered if he could make it. He could barely stomach looking at the man. Lewis looked and acted like a freak.

“I gave three weeks’ notice,” Liam said. “But if you’d like me to leave now, that’d be fine with me.”

“You’ve put me in a hell of a spot.”

“How’s that?”

“Emmett told me I had to talk you into staying. He seems to think you’re an asset. Needless to say, I don’t share that opinion.”

Liam shook his head. “My mind’s made up.”

Lewis slapped his palms down on his desk and leaned forward. “You know what your problem is, Payne? You’re not a team player.”

If the goal of the team was to make Lewis look good, then no, Liam decided, he wasn’t a team player.

“Do you want me to stay for three more weeks, or do you want me to leave now? It doesn’t matter to me.”

“You stay,” Lewis snapped. He sat down heavily behind his desk and began to push folders around, obviously trying to give the impression he was a busy man. He opened one and closed it. Reaching for another, he said, “You can clean out your files. Give whatever you’ve got pending to me, and I’ll distribute them to my loyal detectives.”

Liam wanted to ask who those men might be, but he didn’t think it was a good idea to antagonize Lewis, who could and would make his life miserable.

Without looking up, the commissioner said, “For the next three weeks, you sit at your desk. You can do the phone work for Wincott.”

“Phone work for Wincott? What exactly does that mean?”

“It means you can answer the damn phone, and if Wincott needs any help, you’ll help,” he said. “From your desk.”

The urge to punch him was getting stronger. Liam was leaving when Lewis asked, “Do you have another job lined up?”

“Yes.”

“In London?”

“No.”

He didn’t offer any more information, and Lewis didn’t press. Liam went to his desk and began to sort through his files. John Wincott came rushing across the room. He and Liam went way back. They had gone through the police academy together and had become good friends, but they hadn’t worked together until recently. Wincott used to be able to drink him under the table. Liam thought maybe he still could.

“Man, do you look bad.”

Liam wasn’t exaggerating. Wincott looked as if he hadn’t had any sleep in a decade. There were fat bags under his eyes and deep creases running down the length of his cheeks. He was only a couple of years older than Liam, but at the moment he looked ancient.

Wincott ignored the comment about his appearance.

“Did you get my message about the e-mail Zayn Malik received?” Liam asked.

“Yes,” Wincott answered. “And I’ll be happy to talk about it in a minute. First, I want to ask you something. Is it true that you’re leaving?”

Liam nodded. “Yes.” His chair squeaked when he leaned back. “I was going to call you and tell you, but I guess Gil beat me to it.”

Wincott sat on the edge of Liam’s desk. He glanced beyond Liam’s shoulder to the Lewis’ office. “I can’t blame you. I’d get out if I could.”

“I was ready for a change.” That response was becoming the pat answer. Liam decided he’d stick with it and wondered how many times he’d say it in the next twenty-one days.

“A change, huh? A change where?”

“I’m hoping up north, I’m kinda homesick.” He diverted.

Wincott lowered his voice and leaned toward Liam. “There’s a nasty rumour going around that you’re heading to the Interpol.”

Liam smiled but didn’t confirm or deny it.

Wincott went on, “You have to come over for dinner before you leave. It’s gonna upset Suzie when she hears. My wife’s had the hots for you for years.”

“Is she still screaming my name when you’re having sex?”

Wincott laughed. “How the hell would I know? I can’t remember the last time I had any. There’s always at least one kid in bed between us, and now with the baby getting up every couple of hours, the only thing I want to have is sleep.”

“Spoken like a true married man,” Liam said smiling at his friend.

Wincott grimaced. “Back to Sweeney,” he said. “We’re discovering that a lot of people wanted him dead, so I won’t be running out of suspects. We’ve been going through his stuff. No one can find his wallet. Hey, guess what? Sweeney kept a diary.”

Liam raised an eyebrow. “That’s a thing for teenage girls to do. I didn’t think Sweeney was the dear-diary type.”

Wincott laughed. When he smiled, he looked ten years younger. “It wasn’t that kind of a diary,” he said. “The idiot kept notes on all the people he was going to blackmail. I’m not speculating about that. He wrote it all down. Guess who was in the notebook with the drug dealers and the pimps?”

“Who?”

Wincott leaned in again. “Lewis.”

Liam perked up. “No kidding.”

“That’s right. Sweeney was going to take pictures and send them to his wife.”

“What kind of pictures?”

“Lewis with his mistress.”

Liam shook his head. “Now, that’s shocking.”

“I don’t think it’s so shocking,” Wincott argued. “I don’t know anyone who wouldn’t like to see Lewis take a fall.”

“I think it’s shocking that he could get two women to have sex with him.”

“One woman’s built like an ironing board but has some money, which is why he married her, and the other one doesn’t have any money but from what I hear, she’s loaded in other areas, if you know what I mean.”

“Who else was in there?”

Wincott told him about some of the other deviants Sweeney was already blackmailing. “He even had a ledger of the cash he was going to be taking in and the amounts he was going to charge, kind of like a bank account. Who would write all that down?”

“He must have thought he’d never get caught.”

“Like I said, we’ve got a lot of suspects, but we’re narrowing it down. It looks like one of three drug dealers didn’t want to pay Sweeney’s bills. Maybe he was already shaking them down.”

“What about Zayn Malik? How does he figure in this?”

“Don’t know,” Wincott said. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to him yet. I had to go back to the crime scene and I got stuck there. We did find his cell phone.”

Liam straightened. “Yeah? Where’d you find it?”

“In the bushes behind the dump Sweeney called home. We’re running what’s left of it for prints, but I don’t figure we’ll find any. The basement was wiped clean. Only prints around were Sweeney’s. The murderer had to know what he was doing, and he was strong, real strong. Had to be,” he added, “to lift Sweeney’s body up like that with the rope. Oh, and by the way, we got the autopsy report. He was dead before he was stripped and hung.”

“How was he killed?”

“Asphyxiation,” he said. “So now I’ve got to wonder why the killer went to all that trouble to strip him and hang him. Bradshaw thinks it was for drama,” he said, referring to his partner.

“What do you think?”

“I think he was showing off for his fantasy boyfriend … you know, trying to impress him.”

“The boyfriend being Zayn Malik?” Liam wondered with a frown.

Wincott raised his eyebrows. “I hear he’s a real looker.”

Liam didn’t comment. Wincott didn’t seem to notice.

“You know how those sickos are. Bradshaw thinks maybe he saw him someplace and got fixated on him. He’s going to talk to Matlin about it,” he added, referring to the psychiatrist on staff.

“Good idea,” Liam said. He then filled Wincott in on his interview with Zayn and told him about the man who had chased him to his car. He also mentioned Zayn’s theory about Sweeney and Dr. Shields. “He’s sure he lost his phone when he fell.”

Wincott was trying to work it out in his mind. “Okay, so he found the phone and decided to have a little fun with it. His e-mail address was there. All he had to do was take the picture and then push a button.”

“Still doesn’t explain the connection to Sweeney.”

Wincott agreed. “And I don’t see a dealer having that kind of fun. I can see one of them killing Sweeney, but …” He stopped shrugged, and then said, “Not making any sense yet.”

“What did you mean when you said you were running prints on what was left of the phone?”

“He’d smashed the phone to pieces while he was still in the basement. Crime team found a couple of tiny pieces on the workbench.”

“And of course no prints on the hammer.”

“Nope,” he confirmed. “Not a one. Listen, I appreciate you working this with us. There’s going to be a lot of legwork. Since that e-mail was sent to Zayn Malik, we’re going to have to check out anyone who’s connected to him. Maybe there’s a vendetta from a rejected lover or an unhappy employee. I can use all the help I can get. Be kind of nice finally working together and me getting to tell you what to do. I’m gonna like that.”

“Yeah, well, before you get all worked up about adding me to your team, there’s something you need to know.”

“What’s that?” Wincott happened to look up, and then muttered, “Ah, hell. Lewis is motioning to me.”

“He’s gonna tell you he wants me out of the loop. I can make phone calls for you, but that’s about it.”

“Wincott,” Lewis shouted from his doorway. “I want to talk to you.”

“Dick,” he mumbled.

“Keep me posted,” Liam said.

Wincott nodded. Liam could hear him sigh as he threaded his way around the desks to get to Lewis.

***

“You’re back in.”

Lewis made the announcement from the doorway of his office. “Payne, did you hear what I just said? You’re back in.”

Liam didn’t bother to stand. He simply turned in his swivel chair and asked, “Back in what?”

Lewis strode forward. “I just got off the phone with the superintendent of police. That’s right,” he said. “The superintendent.” His chest actually swelled like a blowfish when he repeated the news.

“And?” Liam prodded.

“Did you have any idea who Zayn Malik was when you interviewed him?”

Liam wasn’t in the mood to play guessing games. He surely had an idea about him but he was not going to give in to Lewis. He’d been in the middle of doodling on his notebook while he watched the second hand circle the clock on the wall. It had been only a couple of hours since Lewis had taken his cases away from him, but he was bored out of his mind. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could stomach sitting there and knew that Lewis expected him to show up at eight every morning and do nothing for nine fucking hours. If Lewis had wanted to drive him nuts, he couldn’t have picked a better punishment. Three weeks of sheer boredom. Like it or not, he was going to have to deal with it.

“Well, did you?”

“Okay, I’ll bite. Who is he?”

“A Styles,” he said.

Lewis stood in front of Liam’s desk and planted his sweaty palms on Liam’s notebook. “He’s Zayn Malik Styles.”

“And?” Liam said unimpressed.

“His family owns all those hotels.” He was frowning now, obviously irritated that Liam hadn’t been suitably impressed. “The Styles hotels in London is just one of several. They’re all top-of-the-line. The man comes from money, old money.”

“So?”

“That wasn’t in your report. I checked. You should have said something. Why didn’t you?”

Liam didn’t know how to respond to the absurd question. “So what about him? And what did you mean when you said I was back in?”

“He has brothers.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Three of them,” he continued, acting as though Liam hadn’t acknowledged the fact. “The oldest one just called the superintendent. Seems Styles knows him quite well. They belong to the same country club,” he added. “The exclusive Queenwood Club in Surrey, to be exact. My wife and I have been trying to get in there for over five years.”

“And?” Liam asked, trying to force him to get to the point.

“Harry’s the oldest Styles,” he said. “He’s a very powerful man.”

He sounded like a fan now. Liam was disgusted. He knew Lewis was after the money if not the family’s connections and prestige. “So?”

“So he’s concerned about his little brother’s safety.”

Liam leaned back. “Why are you talking to me? Wincott’s in charge of the investigation. Refer the brothers to him.”

“Wincott has enough to do,” he said. “And Zayn Malik isn’t a suspect …”

“Did Wincott tell you he wasn’t?”

“I’m telling you,” he snapped.

He wasn’t going to argue. Come on, he thought. Spell it out. Lewis was taking forever to tell him what he wanted. And Liam had so many other things to do. Like doodling for instance. He almost laughed out loud then. Lewis had made sure he’d be excluded from any and all investigations, wanting him to sit at his desk and die from boredom. Fortunately, he had a lot of doodles to finish, and right now Lewis’s palms were sweating all over one of his more creative ones.

“I want you to look after him until Wincott brings in Sweeney’s killer.”

Liam dropped his pen. “You want me to be his bodyguard?” He got angry just thinking about it. “I’m not a fucking bodyguard,” he muttered before Lewis could speak.

“You are now. Know why I decided on you?”

“Because you knew I’d hate it?”

“That too,” Lewis said, grinning. “You have a bad attitude, Payne. That’s why you were so good working as an undercover detective. You fit right in with all those perverts and psychos.”

His insults didn’t faze Liam. “Nice of you to notice.” He smiled a condensing smile at him.

“You’re going to stick with the Styles little brother night and day, day and night. You got that?”

Was he more concerned about the rich boy being upset or Sweeney’s murder? It was hard to tell.

“If his family has so much money, why can’t they hire bodyguards?” Liam had to ask.

“They could. Of course they could,” he said. “And they might.”

Every time he opened his mouth, he spit all over Liam’s desk. Man oh man, three weeks suddenly felt like a life sentence.

“But I want someone from this office with him at all times, and I want Harry Styles to be grateful. Understood?” He didn’t expect a reply. He straightened and headed back to his office. He was shutting the door when he paused and shouted, “Payne?”

Liam didn’t answer.

“This is my ticket into Queenwood. Don’t fuck it up.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Keep him alive.”


	15. Chapter Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They finally discover the first victim's body :(

Due to the incessant rain, the maintenance crew working on the park didn’t get around to clearing the five-foot-high pile of dead shrubs and branches for days. The men wore black rubber boots and yellow slickers over their work clothes and were soon covered in mud as they hauled the reject away. Vernon, the most energetic of the three-man crew, had tossed the last gnarled branch into a nearby wheelbarrow and was heading back to the shed to take a break and have a cigarette when one of his co-workers, a whiner named Sammy, started screaming like a girl, pointing and backing away. Sammy’s hazel eyes looked as if they were going to pop right out of his head.

Harold, the new man, wore large bifocals, which were splattered with mud and drizzle. When he walked closer to see what Sammy was screeching about, he too started screaming. He didn’t sound like a girl, though; he sounded like a squawking geese.

“What’s the matter with you two?” Vernon returned to the men as he asked the question. Then he saw what they were looking at. A toe was sticking up out of the mud.

He squatted down to see a toe that looked real, he fell back on his ample butt. “Don’t touch nothing,” he choked out as he scrambled to his feet. “The police won’t want us touching anything because this here is now a crime scene.”

 

Harold was staring hard at the toe, half expecting it to wiggle. “How do you know, Vernon?”

“’Cause this is where the crime was committed, you twit, or at least where the body was buried.” He paused to point dramatically at the toe before continuing. “And that makes it a crime scene. That’s what they call it on television when they wrap yellow official tape all around the perimeter. Sammy, for the love of God, stop your yelling.”

Sammy pulled a soggy handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his eyes. “We should do something for ‘em … shouldn’t we try to do something?”

Given the circumstances, Vernon was surprisingly calm. “No one can do anything for ‘em now.”

“It is a real toe, isn’t it, Vernon?” Harold asked.

“What do you mean, ‘real’?”

“I’m thinking it could be a rubber one or a plastic one. One of those smart-ass college kids might be trying to prank us.”

It was a viable possibility. Vernon leaned in to recheck it, just to make sure.

“It’s real, all right. Rubber don’t decompose so fast, and I can see it isn’t plastic ‘cause there isn’t any shine to it.”

Sammy gagged. Harold gave him a sharp look and waved him back. “The police won’t appreciate it if you puke on their crime scene. Take a couple of deep breaths,” he suggested.

“Are you sure the toe’s attached to a body?” Harold asked Vernon.

“You come up with the stupidest questions. I’m not touching it or tugging on it to see if it’s attached or not. That’s for the police to figure out. Why don’t you call the police?”

He unfastened his slicker, pulled out a bright red phone, and dialled 101.

***

The last thing Zayn wanted or needed was a company that day or a distraction for that matter. Detective Payne didn’t particularly care how he felt, though. He strolled into his office, looking as scruffy, as rugged and as sexy as Zayn remembered, leaned against the side of his desk, and calmly announced that he was going to be his bodyguard for the next three weeks, or until the man who had e-mailed him the photo of Detective Sweeney was arrested.

“Shouldn’t you be out there looking for the murderer instead of following me around?”

“I’ve been assigned to you,” he said. “Detective Wincott is out there looking,” he added.

Zayn was frustrated and weary. He was also scared but wasn’t going to admit it. Louis still hadn’t called him back, and Zayn was worried sick about him and Gigi.

“Yes, you already told me that Detective Wincott was in charge. I haven’t met him yet. I have been cooperating, haven’t I?” he said. “And it seems you only just left. There’s been such commotion here since then. I need some time to just sit down and think. My head’s reeling. I have some work to finish, and then I want to …”

He tried not to smile. “Think?”

“Yes, think.”

“No problem,” Liam said.

He removed his tie and stuffed it in the pocket of his jacket before taking it off and draping it over a chair.

Zayn watched him get comfortable on the sofa. “What happens in three weeks?”

“Sorry?” He was rolling his sleeves up as he turned to him.

“You said you were going to be my bodyguard for three weeks. What happens after the three weeks are over?”

He undid the top button of his shirt before he answered. “I’m finished with the job and leaving London, but don’t worry, if he’s still out there, then someone else will be assigned to guard you. Until then, you’re stuck with me.”

“Who made that decision?” Zayn demanded.

“Does it matter?”

“Yes, it does,” he said.

“Okay.”

“Okay, who?” Zayn wasn’t going to let it go.

“Commissioner Lewis.”

“Do I have anything to say about this?”

He flashed a smile and picked up the latest Forbes magazine from the coffee table. “Not really,” he said. “Like it or not, I’m here to stay.”

Zayn didn’t like it, not one little bit. Detective Payne was a clear distraction, but he had to put the discussion on hold when his cell phone rang. His office phone rang at the very same time.

Peter Morrison, the man he had turned down for a second grant, was on the line. He was absolutely thrilled he’d gotten through to him.

“This is wonderful,” he stammered. “Your assistant kept putting me off, and I can’t believe I’m finally talking to you. I know you didn’t have anything to do with turning me down for the grant renewal, so I’m not blaming you. It was just a huge misunderstanding, wasn’t it?”

Before Zayn had time to answer and set him straight, he rushed on. “My work is important. I need that money, and I was guaranteed that, once I qualified—and I did qualify last year—that it would be an automatic renewal. How about I come by tonight and you could have the check ready?”

“That’s not going to happen, Mr. Morrison. I am the one who turned you down for the grant, and the information each applicant received was quite specific. There is no such thing as an automatic renewal.”

The man refused to believe him. His voice had lost a little of its cheer as he said, “No, that’s not true. You couldn’t have turned me down. You understand how important my work is.”

“Mr. Morris—”

He interrupted him again. “I know what you’re going to say. Your assistant already told me that I could reapply next year, but the community centre desperately needs the money now. Pulling the rug out at the last minute … it just isn’t right. Now, about the check—”

Determined to end the conversation as quickly as possible, Zayn interrupted, “You are not going to receive any grant money. Your application was denied, and I think it would be a waste of your time, and mine, for you to reapply next year.”

His gasp was loud and clear as Zayn hung up. He noticed Detective Payne was off the phone and said, “Henry was right. Peter Morrison can’t take no for an answer.”

He repeated almost word for word the conversation he’d had with the man. When he was finished, Liam said, “I’ll mention him to Wincott again and make sure he’s looking at him.” He stood, rolled his shoulders, and then picked up his suit jacket and put it on.

“Are you leaving?” Zayn asked confused.

He smiled. “Yes, and so are you. The sketch artist is back and is waiting for us. We need to go. Hopefully, the two of you will be able to come up with a good likeness of the man who chased you.”

His response was immediate. “Yes, okay.”

“No argument?” Liam asked with a smile.

Zayn shook his head. “No, this is too important.”

“Yes, it is.”

Zayn grabbed his wallet from his drawer and was heading toward the door, where he stood waiting, when his fax machine began to buzz.

“Do you need to see what that is, or can it wait until we get back?” he asked.

“It’s probably just an advertisement,” Zayn said, but he had already turned around and was circling the desk to get to the fax machine. “It is so rare to get a fax these days. Everything’s sent through e-mail.”

He glanced over his shoulder to see if Liam was irritated that he was making him wait. The detective was busy buttoning the collar of his shirt and didn’t appear out of sorts over the delay.

“Do you mind? It will only take a minute. The cover sheet’s coming through.”

“No problem.” He was looking for his tie now.

“It’s on the floor by the sofa.”

“What is?” he asked.

“The tie you’re looking for. It fell out of your suit pocket.”

“Oh, Thanks.”

He headed back to the sofa as Zayn turned to the machine. The cover sheet had dropped into the tray below. The sender line was blank, but there was something written on the subject line. He couldn’t quite make it out. He picked the sheet up and turned toward the light. A cold chill raced down his spine as he read the words scrawled across the line: Your Deadpool

“Deadpool? Oh, God …”

It suddenly all clicked. Zayn inhaled sharply and took a step back as though that simple action would separate him from the truth.

Zayn shook his head. “No … it couldn’t be … it’s just not possible …”

Liam heard the panic in his voice. He gently pried the cover sheet out of his trembling hand just as the fax machine began to hum again. Page two was slowly coming through.

Zayn had been so stunned by the heading on the top of the page that he missed the message, written in what looked like chicken scratches, on the bottom. Liam read it out loud: “Sorry, I can’t take credit for this one. I was too late. She was already in the mortuary. Had herself a fatal heart attack, but I went ahead and marked her off your list anyway.”

Liam was on the phone to Wincott by the time Zayn held up the second page. He rattled off the fax number. “Everything else is blocked out.”

“We’re on it,” Wincott said. “I’ll see you back at the station.” He was shouting to his partner as he hung up.

Liam turned to Zayn. “Deadpool? What the hell is a deadpool?”

He didn’t immediately answer. He was anxiously gripping his hands together as he continued to wait for the machine to spit the page out. It seemed to be taking forever.

And there it was.

Oh, God, another picture, this one of a woman lying on what looked like a metal slab. Her ashen face was peaceful in death.

It took Zayn several seconds to remember where he’d seen the woman before.

“This can’t be happening.” He mumbled as he tried to take deep breaths.

“Tell me,” he demanded.

“I know this woman,” he said. “She works at the Body Shop. I stopped in there a couple of weeks ago to buy a bottle of body lotion. She’s a saleswoman.”

Zayn felt suddenly dizzy. He fell back against the desk and took a deep breath. His mind was reeling.

Liam approached him looking slightly concerned.

“Hey, are you alright?”

Zayn merely nodded his head.

“She was wearing a name tag … Ms. Patsy.” He continued.

“You remembered her name?” Lim asked eyebrows in arches.

Zayn nodded. “She was rude, terribly rude. She was probably just having a bad day, and it was wrong of me to judge her so harshly. And now she’s dead.”

That much was pretty obvious. “Are you going to get sick?” Liam was already looking around for a dustbin.

“No, no. This is all my fault.”

“How could this be your fault? If what this maniac says is true, she died of a heart attack.”

However, Zayn was barely listening to him. Oh, God, what had he done? What had he done?

“Zayn?”

Zayn took another deep breath. “You read the note. He said he was too late, that she was already dead. It’s obvious to me he went after her to kill her.”

“You didn’t kill her.” Liam argued.

His face was turning grey. Liam was becoming really concerned he might pass out on him now. He stepped closer just in case so he could catch him if he collapsed.

“No, but I put her on the list.” He said between deep gulps.

His head snapped back. “You what?”

“That deadpool … it’s a people I want dead list…and it’s mine.” He finished his confession with a whisper.


	16. Chapter Fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello   
> Thank you all for reading and for the kudos and the lovely comments :D

Zayn was a little surprised he didn’t put handcuffs on him then and there. Actually, Detective Payne took the news well, considering that he surely now was his number one suspect.

He was quite good at hiding his reactions. Had he not been looking into his eyes, he wouldn’t have noticed his attitude had hardened toward him.

Zayn was too shaken to care what the detective thought about him. He was scared and worried and didn’t like feeling that way at all. He checked the time, calculated that Henry would be back at his desk in about fifteen minutes, and left him a note explaining where he was going. He also instructed him to call Sam Baldwin, the in-house lawyer who, with an overworked staff of three other full-time lawyers, handled all the legal problems involving the Styles International Hotels or their family’s legal matters. Niall jokingly referred to the advocates as Danny’s personal team, since he was the family member who most often needed their expertise. Sam would be a little shocked to hear it was Zayn who now needed him, since he hadn’t caused any troubles for almost six years.

He rode in the detective’s car to the met, and on the way he tried to explain all about the spontaneous exercise Dr. Shields had had the registrants do during the reception.

Liam was weaving in and out of traffic, narrowly missing one car after another. The man drove like a maniac, and Zayn felt it was his duty as a concerned citizen to tell him so.

“Are you kidding me?” he said. “You’re Danny Styles’ brother, aren’t you? If anyone drives like a maniac, it’s your brother.” He paused to think about what he had been telling him and then asked, “What did you mean when you said the bodyguard was still watching you? Had something happened earlier that got his attention?”

“No,” Zayn answered. “But from the minute I walked into the room, he locked in on me. It was really strange. I hadn’t done anything to draw his attention, but he wouldn’t stop staring at me.”

Liam didn’t think it was strange at all. Rude, maybe, but not strange. Hell, he himself was having trouble not staring. If the bodyguard was slightly into men or men that looked like Zayn, it would have explained the mystery because Zayn Malik was a very stunning man.

“I can prove all of this happened,” Zayn said.

He glanced at him. “Prove what?”

“That I’m not making this up … the exercise, I mean. Gigi taped it. She had a recorder in her purse, and she sat close to Shields. You can listen to it.”

“Yes, I will.”

“And just so you understand, I didn’t have any intention of doing the exercise, but then Shields said that, when time was up, we all had to hold up our lists, and he was going to walk around the room to see if we’d all written names. I decided then I’d let him know what I thought of him. He posed the question, after all, and he told us that if the world would be a better place without certain people in it, then put their names down.”

“His name was on your list?”

“Yes.”

“How many names did you write on your notepad?”

“Six … no, five.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, there were five names.” he prayed to God he was right.

“Okay, so Shields was one, and the Patsy woman, and Detective Sweeney,” he said. “Who are the other two?”

“The bodyguards.”

“Ah.”

“I’m not normally so bloodthirsty.” Zayn said blood coming to his cheeks.

He flashed a grin. “I didn’t think you were.”

“The reception seems such a long time ago. I had surgery shortly after that and the days all blended together. As far as the list goes …”

“Yes?”

“I thought I was going to tear it up and throw it in the fire like all the other people were doing, but I had to step into the hall to take a phone call, and when I went back inside, Shields had moved on to what Louis called his inspirational, aren’t-I-wonderful segment.”

“What was that like?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t listen. I went to get the car. That’s when the man came after me, and I fell. I dropped everything. I didn’t realize I’d left my phone and the folder there.”

“So, tell me exactly what was in the folder.”

He looked off into space trying to remember. The image of the blue folder filled with the glossy pages vaguely emerged. “There was the notebook I wrote the list on … and there were testimonials about Shields … and photos … I took one of them and began a reminder list … notes, work stuff … things I needed to get done … just stuff.”

“You’re going to have to remember what all the ’stuff was and, when we get to the met, you can write it down for Detective Wincott.”

“Why?”

“Those notes were left in the folder. He’s going to want to know about them.”

Zayn didn’t know if he could remember what he’d written. He thought about it and didn’t say another word the rest of the way.

Liam parked the car in the adjacent parking lot, opened the door for him, and took hold of his arm when they crossed the street.

“It’s going to be a long afternoon,” he said. “Everything you’ve gone over with me, you’ll have to go over with Wincott.” Again and again and again, he silently added. Wincott was big on repetition.

“And what will you be doing?”

“I’ve got some calls to return and some paperwork to finish up. Wincott will let me know when you’re finished.”

“I don’t need a bodyguard.”

“I think maybe you do.”

“Then I’ll hire—”

He interrupted. “Look, you’re stuck with me no matter how many others you hire. The choice isn’t yours.”

Zayn decided that arguing with him would be pointless. He must have looked forlorn, though, because he said, “Cheer up. It could be worse.”

“How?”

“You could have written ten names on that list, or twenty, or thirty …”

They started up the flight of stairs. “How many names did your friend Louis write?”

“Seven,” he answered.

They reached the landing, and he led her down a narrow hallway. “There you go,” he said. “Your friend’s more bloodthirsty than you are. That ought to make you feel better.”

“Not really. He wrote the names of the Seven Dwarfs.”

He laughed. “You’re kidding.”

Zayn shook his head.

“What’s he got against the Seven Dwarfs?” Liam asked.

He gave him a weak smile. “Nothing.”

“It’s impressive,” he added. He opened the door and stepped back so that Zayn could go inside first.

“What’s impressive?” he asked as he walked past him. “That Gigi and Louis were smart enough not to write names of real people?”

“No, it is impressive Louis could name all Seven Dwarfs. I can only get to four. Let’s see. There’s Doc and Sleepy and Dopey and Slurpy—”

Zayn interrupted. “Slurpy isn’t one of the Seven Dwarfs.”

“Huh. What about Loopy?”

“Sorry, no,” Zayn said trying to supress a laugh, and then he let out a laugh. “Are you trying to make me feel better?”

“Maybe a little.” Liam said with a small smile.

“Why?”

“Because you look like you’re on your way to a firing squad. And we stopped doing that over a month ago. And like I said, it’s going to be a long afternoon for you.”

The met seemed to be a maze of corridors. Liam reached around him to open yet another door. He was going to need bread crumbs to find his way out of here.

“Where are we going now?”

“The coffee room. I told Wincott we’d wait there for him to get back.”

“What about the sketch artist?”

“He’s next.”

The detective pulled a chair out for him and got a whiff of Zayn’s perfume. Damn, he smelled good.

“Do you want something to drink?” he asked.

“Water, please.”

Zayn looked around with interest. The coffee room was nothing like the ones he had seen on television with peeling paint and dirty barred windows. This one was spacious and clean and had obviously just been remodelled. The faint smell of paint still lingered in the air.

There was a note pad and a ballpoint pen in the centre of the table. Liam pushed both toward him. “You might as well get a head start and write the names you put on your deadpool list.”

Deadpool list. Bloody hell, what a mess this was. Zayn picked up the pen and quickly wrote the five names. He labelled the bodyguards A and B since he didn’t know their real names. When he was finished, he pushed the pad toward him.

He leaned across, glanced at the list, and then pushed the pad toward him again.

“Okay, now write down all the notes you were making while Shields was talking.”

That was easier said than done. Zayn tapped the toe of his shoe on the floor while he tried to concentrate. Kevin Milan came to mind. Zayn remembered he’d made a note to have it out with Harry’s assistant. Oh, and Peter Morrison. How could he have forgotten him? He’d made a note to talk to security about him. But who else? Was there anyone else?

The tapping increased. “There’s no need to be nervous,” Liam said.

“I’m not nervous.” It was a lie, and he knew it.

Then Zayn realized he was jiggling the table with his knee, making a racket with his foot. He forced himself to stop. “Maybe I’m a little nervous.”

That was an understatement.

He put the pen down and once again pushed the notepad toward him. He looked at the notes but didn’t comment.

Zayn stared at the table top while he tried to recall what else he’d written on those papers. Had he left anyone off his doom list? He remembered wanting to add Kevin’s name at the last minute, but he never got the chance.

He looked up at Liam, and for a second he actually lost his concentration. That had never happened before. But then, Detective Payne was a very interesting man and a definite contradiction. He was a bit dishevelled with his tie still askew, his wrinkled suit jacket, and his desperate need for a shave, but he had impeccable manners, was obviously well-educated, and had a sense of humour, a trait he thought would have been the first to vanish in his line of work. When he was giving him his full attention, he could almost feel a magnetic pull.

Okay, I’m losing it, Zayn thought. He cleared his throat and said, “I saw you in Commissioner Lewis’s office when I was there before, talking to Detective Sweeney.”

“I saw you too.”

Momentarily side-tracked by his admission, he asked in surprise, “You did?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Yes, well, the thing is … the commissioner was shouting at a police officer,” Zayn said. “Actually, as I remember, he was screaming. I had never seen anyone behave like that. No one in such a position of authority, anyway. I thought his conduct was appalling.”

“He wanted to get rid of the officer.”

“You defended him.” Zayn stated.

He smiled. “You saw that too?”

“Yes,” he said. “I saw you arguing with Lewis, but I couldn’t hear what you were saying to him. Unlike your superior, you didn’t raise your voice. I remember thinking that he … Lewis … was humiliating that officer.”

Liam disagreed. “No,” he said. “He tried to humiliate him, but he didn’t succeed. The officer knew he hadn’t done anything wrong. How come we’re talking about this now?”

Zayn couldn’t hold his stare but looked over his shoulder. “I was going to put the Commissioner’s name on the list.”

Liam was trying hard not to smile. “But you didn’t?”

“No, I didn’t. I would have, though, if I hadn’t been interrupted. My mobile rang, and I had to hurry out into the hall to answer it. I would have added his name if I’d continued. I just thought you should know.”

“I wouldn’t tell Detective Wincott if I were you.”

“Why not?”

He shrugged. “It’d be cruel, getting his hopes up and then disappointing him.”

“But I didn’t put Lewis’s name on the list.”

“There you go.”


	17. Chapter Sixteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ziam *YAY*

Zayn finally asked the questions that had been nagging at him.

“Why are you leaving London?”

“It’s a long story.” He didn’t fully elaborate.

“Where will you go?” Zayn asked too curious to let it go.

“Back to Wolverhampton for a while. That’s where I’m from.”

“We have a hotel in there.”

“I know,” he said.

Liam didn’t offer any information, and he didn’t press him to explain. They both turned when the door opened. Detective John Wincott took a step inside, then bent down to pick up some papers he’d dropped. The perfectly round bald spot on the crown of his head was visible and shiny. Wincott’s partner told everyone in the precinct that Wincott was sensitive about his hair loss, so of course at every opportunity he was teased and tormented.

He reminded Zayn of a harried accountant, probably because he was carrying what looked like a ledger with papers sticking out every which way. Then he noticed the gun holstered to his side, and the possibility that he was an accountant went out the window.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“You still look half dead,” Liam told him after introducing him to Zayn.

Zayn thought the man was actually rather nice looking, but with the dark circles under his eyes and the grey complexion, he did look worn-out.

“Yeah, well, I missed my day at the spa this week,” Wincott said wryly.

Liam laughed. “I forgot to ask. How’s the baby?”

Wincott turned to Zayn to explain, “Our baby’s cutting teeth,” he said. “And she’s not happy about it, which means my wife and I aren’t happy either. Neither one of us is getting any sleep.”

Liam stood. “I told Zayn you’re an adequate detective. Don’t make a liar out of me. I’m leaving him with your capable hands.”

“Don’t you want to sit in on this?”

He shook his head. “I’ve got some phone calls to make. I’ll be at my desk if you need anything,” he told Zayn. “Okay?”

He was being very sweet, Zayn thought. And looking worried about him. “Yes, okay,” he said.

Liam pulled the door closed behind him. He turned and bumped into Lyle Bradshaw. Wincott’s partner looked impeccable as usual. His striped tie had a perfect knot in it, his dark suit was wrinkle free, his shirt was immaculate, and his shoes, like always, looked brand-new. Standing next to him, Liam looked as though he’d just recently been mugged.

“Is he in the coffee room?” Bradshaw asked in lieu of a greeting.

“Yes,” Liam said. “Wincott’s with him.”

 “I hear he’s a stunner.” Bradshaw said licking his lips.

“Yeah? Where did you hear that?”

“The pool,” he said, referring to the open area where all the detectives worked. “He’s been the topic of conversation since you brought him in. I hear he’s got a gorgeous face.”

Liam was surprised by the spark of anger he felt. It came out of nowhere.

“Yeah well he’s definitely out of your league, Lyle.”

Newly divorced, Bradshaw-who identifies as bisexual-considered himself a playboy. Women found him attractive and attentive, men found him sexy and rugged, and he never lacked companionship, but Liam thought he was a little too arrogant for his own good, and on occasion he could be downright obnoxious. His only saving grace was his skill as a detective.

Bradshaw was opening the door to the coffee room when Liam called out, “Hey, Bradshaw.”

“Yes?”

Liam was going to tell him not to hit on Zayn but stopped himself in time. “Go easy on him,” he said instead. “He’s scared.”

Liam picked up his messages and went back to his desk. Lewis had doled out his cases to several other already overworked detectives, and in a childish attempt to punish him, Lewis had had his computer removed. The top of Liam’s desk was now completely bare.

If the other detectives hadn’t gotten stuck with his work, he would have thought Lewis’s behaviour was funny. Liam sat down at his desk and used his cell phone to call his sister Nick.

“So I guess I’m in,” he said.

Nick laughed. “Hi, Liam. By in, I assume you mean the Interpol?”

“You already knew, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I did. Ward called to tell me about five minutes after you were accepted. Your test scores were impressive.”

“Better than yours?”

“If they were, do you think I’d admit it?”

“Probably not. Tell Thea, will you?” Liam asked. He didn’t know if he’d have time to track down his older sister.

“She already knows. Ward called her too. Have you made up your mind about buying my town house? Laurent’s been out looking every Sunday with a realtor. The town house is great for a bachelor, but with the baby, it’s too crowded.”

Liam smiled. Nick had hit the jackpot when he’d married Laurent. He was such a good man.

“I am going to buy your town house,” Liam said. “Even if I don’t get assigned to London area …”

“Ward says you will.”

“He’d say anything to get me to sign up,” he said. “Ward doesn’t make the decision, but even if I don’t end up in London, I’ll still keep the property. It’s a good investment.”

A second later Nick was back on the cell phone reminding him that their sister Thea was still planning a trip to London.

“I know, but she won’t commit to a date. I won’t be able to start packing until my job ends here. I’ve got a new assignment that’s going to take up most of my time for the next three weeks, but then I’m done. If Thea waits too long, she’ll get stuck helping me pack.”

“What’s the new assignment?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Nick laughed. “That bad, huh?”

A young cop dropped a fat file on Liam’s desk and turned to leave. Liam motioned him to stay. “I’ve got to go, Nick.” He turned off the call and put it back in his pocket. “What’s all this?” he asked.

“Forms you need to fill out. H.R. sent them over.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No, sir. I never kid.”

“I’ve already filled out papers.” He silently added, Fuck this shit.

“No, sir. You filled out some of the forms, but not all of them.”

They said they’d need these back by the end of the day.”

“It’s harder to get out of this place than it is to get in.”

“That’s what a lot of criminals tell us.”

Liam decided he might as well get it over with, opened the folder, and started filling in the first form. It took him close to an hour to finish up, but only because he kept getting interrupted. A detective had gotten a photocopy of Sweeney’s blackmail book and was reading out loud from it.

Liam had just signed the last form when he looked up and saw Bradshaw motioning to him. He picked up the folder to take with him, intending to drop it off on his way downstairs. Bradshaw was waiting by the steps.

“Are you finished with Zayn?” Liam asked.

“For now,” he answered. “Wincott took him upstairs to his favourite sketch artist.”

“That shouldn’t take too long.”

Bradshaw snorted. “You don’t know Anthony, do you? He’ll keep him for the rest of the day if he has to, until he tells him it’s a perfect likeness. You’ll need to stay with him. I just got a call from Lewis’s kiss-ass assistant. He told me that Zayn’s brother and his Lawyer are headed over here.”

“Zayn’s not a suspect. Did you explain that to him?”

“Of course I did,” he said. “I came close to asking him out too, but I controlled myself.”

“Jeez, Bradshaw. Try to stay focused.”

Bradshaw grinned. “That’s hard to do around him. Have you looked at him?”

_Yeah, a little too much!_

“Who called the brother and the attorney?  He asked instead. “Do you know?”

“No,” he said. “They’re going to have a conference with Lewis.”

They simultaneously turned to look at the Commissioner. They could see him through the glass clearing the clutter from his desk.

“He’s getting ready for company,” Liam said.

“Important company,” Bradshaw added. “The Styles have money.”

Money. That was what it was all about with Lewis, Liam thought, as he headed to the front desk to drop off the papers. On his way back, he ran into Melissa and said hello to her. She grunted her reply. When she was past him, she stopped and called out, “Hey, Payne.”

“Yes?”

“Tell Zayn that when I was working on his piece of shit computer, I removed him from the loop and I forgot to put him back.”

“What are you talking about?”

“He’s got a couple of stations hooked on in network.”

“Melissa, I still don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She looked vexed. “Do you know anything about computers?”

“Apparently not as much as you’d like me to know, so just explain in cavemen terms.”

“There are a couple of other people reading his e-mails.”

“Now, how hard was that to say?”

She ignored his sarcasm. “There are a bunch of computers over there at the hotel, and they’re all on the same network. Think of his e-mail like a ball. When he gets a message, the ball bounces to other stations. His assistant gets his messages the same time he does. It was set up that way to save time,” she explained. She squinted at him and asked, “Are you getting any of this?”

He wasn’t going to let her irritate him. “You said that there were a couple of people reading her e-mails. His assistant is one. Who’s the other ball breaker?” he asked with a straight face.

“The ball bounces, Payne. It doesn’t break. And it’s someone else in-house.”

“Can you track it to a specific computer?”

“I already did. I don’t remember the computer ID, but it’s in one of his brother’s offices. I can’t remember which one. It’s all in my notes, which I sent to Wincott. Ask him.”

“Send me a copy of your report.” She was walking away when he stopped her again. “Zayn might not know someone else is reading his mail? Is that possible?”

She shrugged. “He might not know.”

Liam turned the corner and spotted Zayn through the glass in the door. He was sitting at a computer with the sketch artist at his side. Zayn must have sensed that he was watching him because he suddenly turned and looked at him. And then he smiled, a full beam that made his heart stutter. So he smiled back.

Anthony tapped him on the arm to get his attention again. Zayn reluctantly turned to the screen. Anthony was a hard taskmaster. He was an older man who didn’t have much of a sense of humour. After he shook his hand, he announced that he was a perfectionist and told him that they would work together for as long as necessary to achieve a perfect likeness of the man who had chased him in the park.

It was a surprisingly difficult task. Until he sat down with Anthony, Zayn thought he had a good picture of the man in his mind, but that wasn’t the case. Several times he had to close his eyes and try to visualize him again. Being exact about the shape of his nose, his eyes, and his chin was extremely challenging.

When they were finished, he believed the sketch was a good likeness, but it wasn’t perfect by any means. And when Tony removed the glasses and the beard, the man’s appearance completely changed. He didn’t have a clue if that was accurate or not.

Liam was waiting for him outside the sketch artist’s workroom. Zayn handed him the printout and said, “Anthony thinks the hair and the glasses and the beard could all be props.” he handed him the second printout of Anthony’s drawing. “This is what he might really look like.”

“Does he look familiar?”

Zayn shook his head. “He’s very … ordinary, isn’t he?”

He nodded. “So this might be the …” He started to say bastard and then substituted, “… crazy we’re looking for. He’s nondescript and will blend in with a crowd.”

“Maybe not,” he said. “He was big, as big as you, and just as muscular. His size alone might make him stand out. I don’t know.” he took a breath and then said, “If he’s the man who stole my phone, and if he’s the man who killed Detective Sweeney, and …” he was too disheartened to go on. “I think Detectives Wincott and Bradshaw are finished questioning me, so I’ll head back to my office. If you or the other detectives need to speak to me, just call or stop by.”

Liam stepped in front of him. “Now, I know you’re smarter than that, and we have been over this, but I’m gonna pretend you still don’t understand. I’ve been assigned to you, and that means that everywhere you go, I go.”

Zayn folded him arms and frowned. The day was proving to be long and arduous. “And as I explained, if I feel I need a bodyguard, I’ll hire one.”

Liam’s smile was distracting, and when he stepped closer to him, forcing him to tilt his head back to look into his eyes, He actually felt a rush of goose bumps run through his skin.

“Are we going to get into an argument?” he asked.

“I believe we are.”

“You can’t win.”

“Why? Because you’ve got a gun?” Zayn asked cocking an eyebrow.

He didn’t say a word. He just nodded.

“Because you’re bigger?”

He nodded again.

“Stronger?”

He smiled.

Zayn rolled his eyes. “You’ll notice I didn’t say smarter.” Liam did laugh then. “Detective…”

It was as far as he would let him get. “Neither one of us can leave just yet.”

“Why not?” He asked, temporarily distracted from the bodyguard issue.

“Your brother and your Lawyer are downstairs in Lewis’s office with Wincott and Bradshaw. I came up here to get you. They’re all waiting to talk to you.”

“Which brother?” He asked, trying not to let him see how irritated he was.

“I don’t know. Does it matter?”

“Yes. I hope it’s not Harry,” Zayn said. He didn’t tell Liam what he was thinking, but he did hope that Niall was back in town and was waiting downstairs. He was much easier to deal with.

He shook his head as he attempted to go around him. “I guess we should go downstairs then.”

Liam maneuvered in front of him again and leaned against the wall. “What’s going on with you?”

He acted as though they were old friends and he knew him so well he could tell when he was not in the mood.

Zayn shifted from one foot to the other as he said, “If I hadn’t made that stupid list …”

“You didn’t kill anyone, did you?”

“No, but …”

“You simply took part in an exercise.”

“I made a fucking murder list.” Zayn said running his hand to his face, like he still can’t get his head around it.

“Along with a whole lot of other people,” Liam pointed out. “You just didn’t get the opportunity to toss your list into the fire.” He stepped aside to let him go ahead of him. “I can’t wait to meet this Dr. Shields. He sounds like a snake charmer.”

“Not so charming. Just a snake. I wish I had never heard of him,” He answered over his shoulder.

“So what’s wrong with Harry?”

The questions jarred him. “Nothing’s wrong with him. He’s a wonderful brother.”

Liam wasn’t buying it. “Yeah, sure.” Zayn looked at him sideways.

“He’s just a little … uptight. That’s all.”

Liam didn’t have to ask which of the two strangers in Lewis’s office Zayn’s brother was. If attractiveness ran in the family, it would not take a genius to figure it out. Though Zayn was only five seven or five eight and his brother was over six feet, they shared the same attractive features, nice eyes, nose, lips. Harry had more of a European beauty while Zayn’s beauty was more exotic. Harry was impeccably dressed in a well-fitting, dark suit, which Liam assumed had a fancy designer label inside.

The well-fed man sitting in a chair facing Lewis’s desk was also wearing an expensive suit. The man was short, round as an egg, and his face was as wrinkled. Liam assumed he was the counsellor.

Detectives Wincott and Bradshaw stood by the windows, watching. They both looked bored senseless.

Zayn’s brother happened to glance up, spotted him coming toward him, and for a fleeting second, Liam saw relief in his eyes. No matter how many flaws the man might have, it was apparent he loved his little brother.


	18. Chapter Seventeen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys...How's it goin'?  
> Zquad okay out there...or they dead yet *in ref with Zayn's interview/photoshoot/zelfie*  
> Are we dead yet or what!  
> Anyway...  
> This is a long one...A progression of Ziam, if I say so myself.  
> Question: Did anyone spot any Larry inference :P if ya did let me know when it was mentioned ;) it is not in this chapter btw it's in a previous chapter.

Sam Baldwin, the Styles’ attorney, closed his notebook and stood when Zayn walked in.

“You’re not a suspect,” he told him immediately.

“No, no, of course he isn’t,” Lewis agreed. He stood and leaned across the desk with his hand outstretched. He introduced himself to Zayn, shook his hand, and wouldn’t let go as he said, “I know this must be a terrible ordeal for you.”

Before he could respond, Sam said, “I’ll get back to you within the hour, Harry.” He nodded to Zayn, who was trying to pull his hand away from Lewis’s grasp and then left the office.

“Zayn?” Harry said.

“I’m fine,” he replied.

The second Lewis let go of him, He crossed the room to stand next to his brother. Since the commissioner hadn’t bothered to introduce Liam to him, He did.

The two men were the same height. Harry was thinner, but both men were quite handsome and fit. His brother looked tired, though. Tired and worried.

“The Commissioner tells me you’ve been assigned to protect my brother until the man who sent those photos is apprehended.” Harry said in a deep raspy voice.

“That’s right,” Lewis said before Liam could answer.

Wincott drew Lewis’s attention when he asked, “Who else are you going to put on this, or is it just Payne and Bradshaw and me working the case? Connelly’s already been reassigned, hasn’t he?”

“Yes, he has,” Lewis said. “You’ll have help, but it won’t be Payne.” He sat down in his chair and scowled at Wincott. “You understand what I’m saying? Payne’s got bodyguard duty and that’s all.”

“Did Sam call you?” Zayn asked his brother. He whispered so that Lewis wouldn’t hear him. “Is that why you’re here?”

Wincott and Bradshaw were occupied arguing with Lewis about manpower, ignoring Zayn for the moment, but Liam was paying attention.

“No,” Harry said in response to Zayn’s question. “Henry called Sam and told him you were on your way here. He also told him about the e-mail and the fax you received. I saw the photos.”

“You did?”

“There were copies on my desk when I arrived. As soon as I saw them, I called Sam. Neither one of us found out you had made a deadpool until we got here. Zayn, what in the hell were you thinking?”

“Excuse me?” Anger radiated in his voice.

“You heard me. I cannot imagine why you would do such a thing.”

He didn’t bother to explain because he knew that no matter what he said, He would still be put on the defensive. And be found guilty. He did love Harry but sometimes he wished he would not be as strict as he was.

He took a breath and whispered. “How did you get those photos? Henry wouldn’t have placed anything on your desk without checking with me first.”

“Someone put them there. I just assumed they came from your assistant. That really isn’t important, is it?”

 _Yes_ , He thought, _it was very important_ , but he knew that now wasn’t the time to argue about it. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t bother Niall and Danny about any of this. I don’t want them to worry,” He said.

“Too late. Someone e-mailed them the photos.”

“The photos of Detective Sweeney and the saleswoman? They’ve seen those photos?” He asked, trying to understand.

“Were there others?”

“No, no there weren’t.”

“Then the answer is yes. They’ve seen the photos of the detective and the saleswoman.”

“I wish they hadn’t seen them. They’re going to worry, and—” His anger and frustration were building.

Harry, on the other hand, was his usual stone-faced self. “Worry? They’re frantic. Niall wants you under lock and key until he gets home, and then he hopes you’ll fly back to Dublin and stay with him until the police catch this maniac.”

“I’m not going to do that.”

“He thinks he can talk you into it. Danny also wants you to stay with him.”

“Where is he this week?”

“Paris until the day after tomorrow. He wants you to travel with him, and that, of course, is out of the question.”

“Harry, I can make my own decisions.”

“You won’t even get in a car with Danny. Why would you consider traveling with him?”

“I’m not going to travel with him, and I’m not going to Dublin either.”

Harry nodded and turned to Liam. “As I was explaining to Detective Wincott, we have an excellent security force at the hotel. I’ll go ahead and hire additional men.”

Was he dismissing him? Liam thought maybe he was and was vastly amused. Did Harry think Liam worked for him? Even though he found the job of bodyguard a little demeaning, he would keep Zayn safe until Lewis replaced him.

Detective Wincott joined them. Harry assured him that he and his brothers, and Zayn, of course, would do anything they could to help with the investigation.

“He’s living at the hotel now, and his office is on the third floor, so he never has to go outside, and that should make your job a little easier,” he told Liam.

Zayn was shaking his head. “I can’t just cancel my schedule. I’ve given my word that I would help with some important events coming up. I won’t miss the hospital fund-raiser.”

“You’re going to have to cancel everything for now,” Harry said autocratically. “If you insist on staying in London, then you’re stuck in the hotel. I’m postponing my business trips until this matter is settled.”

“But, Harry…” He began. However, his brother had already turned to Wincott and was now discussing the plan for him protection. Neither one of them asked him for his opinion. Harry still firmly believed he should be put on their private jet and sent into seclusion.

In the midst of their conversation, Zayn walked out of the office. Liam was right behind him.

“Would you mind driving me back to the hotel?” He asked. “If it isn’t convenient, I could walk or grab a taxi.”

“What is it with you people? First you and then your brother. I’m not going to go away, so stop trying to dismiss me. Got that?”

Zayn didn’t turn around. “Yes, all right.”

“Wait a minute. What about your brother?” Liam asked as he chased after him.

He kept right on going. “What about him?”

A slow smile crossed his face. He followed after Zayn down the stairs, half expecting his brother to come chasing after him.

“How come you didn’t defend yourself back there?”

“When?”

“When your brother asked about the deadpool. He gave me the impression that he blames you for what happened.”

“In a way I am responsible, aren’t I?” Zayn admitted dejectedly.

“No.” Liam pressed.

Liam grabbed his arm and pulled him back so he wouldn’t go outside ahead of him. They crossed the street and went into the parking lot. Liam opened the passenger door for him, but his gaze, Zayn noticed, was never still. It was as though he expected a sniper to pop up somewhere. He scanned the roofs and the street beyond.

Once he was behind the wheel, he pushed the button that locked the doors. The sound turned his thoughts. “I’m going to buy a new car today.” Zayn said absentmindedly.

“You are? What’s wrong with the car you have? You do own a car, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do.” He wondered if Liam thought he was driven around in a limo whenever he wanted to go out.

“So what’s wrong with it?” He pictured him driving a Jaguar or maybe even a Porsche, definitely something expensive and trendy.

“It’s old.” Zayn admitted.

“How old? A year? Two?”

“You think I’m spoiled, don’t you?” Zayn asked.

“Does it matter what I think of you?”

“No.” He told the lie well and was certain he believed him. It did matter, though, a little anyway.

The traffic was heavy. When Liam veered to the left to avoid a car that pulled in front of them, Zayn flinched, and when he sped up to work his way onto the highway, He reacted again. “Listen,” he said. “You’re making me nuts grabbing the dashboard every time I turn a corner. Try to relax, or is that possible?”

“Of course it’s possible. Slow down and I’ll prove it.”

“I know what I’m doing.” There was a bite in his voice now.

His tone didn’t faze him. “So does Danny, and he’s had God only knows how many accidents.”

“I’m not your brother,” he said. “And the name is LEE-YAM.”

Zayn noticed he’d slowed the car down. “What did you say?”

“You might as well call me Liam. You and I are going to be real tight for a while.” Liam said lightly.

“If Commissioner Lewis knew I was going to put him on that list, he’d reassign you and hang me out to dry. That’s what I’d do.”

He laughed. “No, you wouldn’t. You’re too soft-hearted to do anything like that.”

“You can’t possibly know if I’m soft-hearted or not.” Zayn countered.

“Sure I can. I’m a detective.”

“Meaning?”

“I detect,” he said with a grin.

“Are you married?” _Now, why had he asked him that? It really was none of him business. Good one Zayn, you might as well ask him out, say your single. Score! He was so lame._

“No.” he automatically answered.

“I’m not either,” He said. _Ugh, can he be more obvious._

“Yeah, I know.”

Zayn was trying to come up with a suitable reason he’d asked such a personal question. “I was just curious,” He said. _How lame was that?_

They reached the hotel a minute later. Wincott called Liam’s cell phone just as the doorman opened the car door for Zayn.

“I wanted to talk to you about the schedule,” Wincott said as Liam followed Zayn into the lobby.

“What about it?”

“You can’t be with the guy twenty-four hours a day, despite what Lewis thinks. You’re gonna have to sleep sometime. You could sleep with him, I guess. That would be one way to keep an eye on him during the night.”

“There’s a plan,” Liam said dryly.

“Of course, there’s a chance he might not cooperate.”

“So what do you suggest? You’re running the show.”

Zayn had stopped at the front desk and was going through some papers one of the staff had handed him. Liam stood about ten feet away, his back to him, watching the people in the lobby.

“His brother wants him under lock and key,” he said. “That would make our job easier; however, we both know there will be times when he absolutely has to leave the hotel, so how about this? You’re with him all day, in and outside the hotel. Whenever he goes, you go, but when he’s in for the night, we let the hotel security staff babysit him.”

“I don’t like it.”

“I don’t like it, either.”

Liam laughed. “Then why did you suggest it?”

“Bradshaw wanted me to.”

“Since when do you listen to your partner?”

“Pretty much never, but he came up with the idea, and I promised I’d run it by you,” he said. “His brother’s hiring additional security.”

“Yeah, I know, but I still don’t like it. I don’t trust any outsider to do our job.”

Wincott agreed. “This bastard … he’s playing a sick game with him, isn’t he?”

“That’s my guess.”

“I’ve got a feeling he’s going to want some feedback from him.”

“I think so too. You do something nice for someone, you want to hear a thank you.”

“Matlin agrees with you,” he said, referring to the staff psychiatrist. “He thinks he’ll want to contact him again, but he’ll do something a little more personal than a fax or an e-mail.”

“What else did he say?”

“Bradshaw only just gave him the file, so Matlin’s going to need a little time, but he did notice the ‘your’ was underlined a couple of times. You know what I’m talking about, don’t you? On the subject line of the fax. He wrote, ‘Your Deadpool.’”

“Yes, I know.”

“Matlin thinks underlining the ‘your’ is significant.”

“Did he say why?”

“No.”

“That’s a big help.”

“I’ll talk to him in a couple of hours. He should have had enough time to go over our notes.”

“Let me know what he says.”

“Okay. I’m going to get someone over there tonight to relieve you. Tomorrow we’ll figure out a schedule that works for everyone.”

“Have whoever you assign call me before he comes over.”

Liam ended the call and turned to Zayn. he handed some papers back to the clerk and said something to the woman that made him smile.

“Are you ready?” he asked Liam.

“Ready for anything,” he said. “What did you have in mind?”

“I’d like to test drive a couple of cars this afternoon.”

He shook his head. “You’re going to have to put that on hold.”

“I’m stuck here, aren’t I?”

“Yes. Do you have a lot of work to do?”

They crossed the lobby to the bank of elevators.

“Actually, once I get caught up, I won’t have much to do for a while. This is our slow time of the year.”

“How come?”

“All the grant letters have gone out. The money’s been allotted for this next year, but the process starts all over again in August, when Henry and I begin sorting through all the new applicants.”

Zayn was digging through his pockets, looking for his elevator key. He handed Liam his wallet, a pen, tissues, gum before he found it.

He smiled. “It’s always the last item,” he said. He put the key in the slot and pushed the button for the third floor before he opened his palms wide enough for Liam to dump everything back.

“I understand no one can get up to the offices without a key,” he said as the doors opened.

“That’s right.”

“Bet it would be easy to steal a key.”

Zayn thought about it. “Yes, it would be easy. So many of the staff have keys, and they get misplaced.”

“Not good.” The elevator stopped on the third floor as he said, “You need to talk to the head of security.”

“Yes, of course. I’ll make a note to talk to her tomorrow.”

“Her?” He sounded surprised.

“Do you have a problem with a woman in charge of our security?” Zayn asked with a smile.

“Not if she’s good.” Liam replied. He was just a little surprised that’s all.

Henry must have heard them talking, because he came rushing toward them when they turned the corner.

“Man, have I got news,” he said. He was so excited he sounded out of breath. “Harry called and left a message. He’s posting a guard in front of the elevators and the stairwell downstairs, and another one on this floor. No one gets past without proper identification, and it’s got to be a photo ID. He’s also putting a guard outside your door upstairs, your suite door.”

“When is this supposed to happen?” Zayn asked.

“Now,” he answered. “They’re all on their way, I guess. Anyway, there’s more …”

He was walking backward as Zayn and Liam headed for his offices. “More guards?” Zayn asked apprehensively.

Henry shook his head. “No, more news. You’re not gonna believe this.”

“What is it?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he said in case he was worried about that. “It’s just … well, you’re not going to believe …”

“Try me.”

“You might get mad.”

“For fuck’s sake, just tell me,” he said, his exasperation obvious in his tone.

They had reached his offices. Liam stepped around Henry to hold the door for both of them.

“Before Harry went with the attorney to the police station, he stopped in here.”

“For what purpose?”

“He told me to tell you that he had your car towed away, and he left this for you,” he said. He turned and picked up a padded envelope from his desk.

Zayn looked incredulous. “He had my car …”

“Towed away,” Henry repeated.

“Did he tell you where he had it towed?”

Henry looked miserable when he said, “To a junkyard, but he wouldn’t tell me which one.”

Zayn took a step back, his hands clenched. He could feel his face heating up. He tried to remain calm in front of Liam and Henry, but inside he was boiling with rage. He took a deep breath. It didn’t help.

“Aren’t you going to open the envelope?” Henry asked.

“Yes,” he said. He tore the seal off and pulled out a set of keys.

“Did Harry explain this?” he asked, holding the key chain up.

Once again, Henry was looking excited. “He bought you a car.”

Liam noticed that Zayn’s left eyelid twitched ever so slightly and his jaw muscle danced under the pressure. It was apparent he was struggling to keep his temper under control. He was doing a fair job of it too.

“Your brother bought you a new car,” Liam commented cheerfully. “Wasn’t that nice of him?” He added the question just to see how he would respond.

His eyelid twitched again, his jaw muscle contracted. “Yes,” he said, all but choking on the word.

“It’s an X6,” Henry announced. He was looking at the emblem on the key ring.

When Zayn didn’t immediately show any reaction to that news, Henry thought he didn’t understand. “You know what I’m talking about, right? It’s a BMW 4x4 model X6.”

Zayn didn’t trust himself to speak, and so he simply nodded. He was at a loss for words and so fucking furious with Harry he wanted to scream. His audacity was stunning. Why was he so hell-bent on running his life for him?

“Zayn, are you okay? You’ve got a real funny look in your eyes,” Henry said.

“I think he’s still reeling from the surprise,” Liam said. He was trying to be diplomatic. In reality, Zayn looked as if he wanted to kill someone.

Henry couldn’t quite contain his eagerness. “Yes, I guess I would be reeling too. BMW’s costs a small fortune.” He turned to Zayn again and said, “Harry didn’t mention what colour the car was, and I didn’t think to ask him until after he left.”

Zayn took another deep breath. “The colour isn’t important.”

“Would you like me to test drive it for you?” Henry asked excitedly. “I mean, you know, just to see if the car measures up. Harry told me it’s already insured, and I’ve got the time. My desk is clear, and I’m all caught up.”

The kid was dying to drive the car, and judging from the look in Zayn’s eyes, he was dying to get his hands on his brother’s neck.

Liam couldn’t help but be impressed with his restraint. Keeping all that anger bottled up inside couldn’t be good for him, though. And what was his brother’s problem? Liam thought it was damned gutsy for him to have his car towed away, no matter how old or junky it was.

 _Not my worry_ , Liam reminded himself. He was out of here in less than a month, and he wasn’t going to get involved with anyone before he left. Every family had problems, of course, but Zayn’s brother put a whole new spin on the word “dysfunctional.” Liam couldn’t imagine one of his sisters having his car towed away. If they did, he’d have to kick some serious butt. Harry didn’t seem to have any problem interfering in Zayn’s life, however. Were his other brothers like him? Three dudes trying to run his life. If that were true he couldn’t help but feel sorry for him … and for any person of interest who tried to get close to him.

 _But again not his concern. No, sir. No problem, no worries. Yeah, that was going to be his motto for the remainder of his time in London. He’d do his job to the best of his ability and then get out._ Sounded simple enough.

“So what do you think, Zayn?” Henry asked.

Zayn mentally shook himself. “I’m sorry. What do I think about what?”

“Do you want me to test drive the new car for you?”

He forced a smile. It wasn’t Henry’s fault he had a jerk for a brother. “Yes, I do.”

He dropped the keys into his hand, told him to be careful, and then slowly walked into his office and closed the door.

Henry was putting his blazer on as he headed for the door. “I won’t be gone long,” he told Liam.

“Wait a minute,” Liam said.

Henry paused with his hand on the doorknob. “Yes?”

Liam tilted his head toward Zayn’s office. “Is he going to start throwing things, or is it safe for me to go in there?”

Henry laughed. “Zayn throwing things? Like in a temper tantrum? He’d never do that. He never loses his cool, and he would never ever throw things. That’s just not his style. He may be smoking though. He smokes when he’s angry or anxious and man is he angry now but I guess you could tell that.”

“Yes, I could.”

“Don’t worry,” he said. “He won’t take it out on you.”

That thought hadn’t entered his mind. Liam considered himself a good judge of character, and it had taken him about five minutes to figure out that Zayn didn’t have a mean bone in his body. He could never deliberately hurt anyone. The way that his staff responded to him indicated he had a kind soul. The problem, as he saw it, was that he was probably too sweet for his own good. He ought to find Harry and give him hell for poking his nose into his affairs. Yeah, that’s what he ought to do, but he doubted Zayn would. He was probably too nice to ever blow up.

For the third time, not his problem. It wasn’t his job to teach him how to stand up for himself. He did think it was odd, however, that growing up with three older brothers hadn’t toughened him up a little. Yet again if he thought about it, the older brothers probably were overprotective because he was way too much younger than them.

He knocked on his office door but didn’t wait for him to give him permission to enter. The sofa was calling his name. He remembered how comfortable it was, and while Zayn worked, he was going to take a nap. Liam was a light sleeper. He wasn’t concerned he would leave, because he’d be wide awake before Zayn reached the door.

Zayn was on the phone, cigarette between his fingers, his face was flushed, and he was obviously agitated. He was pacing back and forth behind his desk, blowing smoke every now and then. He heard him say, “Have him call me the second he returns,” he snapped before he hung up the phone.

“Is everything okay?” he asked, knowing full well it wasn’t.

“Yes,” he said. “Everything’s fine.” He said sharply stabbing his cigarette on a crystal ashtray that was placed on his desk.

Liam leaned to the side to look behind him.

“What are you looking for?” Zayn asked.

“I just wanted to see if your pants were on fire. You know,” he drawled. “‘Liar, liar …’”

Zayn smiled. “Everything isn’t okay,” he admitted. “I’d like to get my brother alone and …”

Liam was removing his jacket, but his eyes were locked on his. “And what?”

Zayn didn’t answer.

“How do you get rid of it?” he asked then.

He pulled his chair out from behind his desk and sat down. “Get rid of what?”

“The tension, the frustration,” he said. “Or do you keep it all bottled up inside? If that’s the case, you’d better find a way to get rid of it, or you’re going to die young. Stress will kill you.”

“Believe it or not, I take a yoga class.”

He laughed, just trying to imagine Zayn in yoga pants trying some funny positions, that thought should not turn him on a little but it definitely did. He seriously needed to stop. “Yeah, well, you need a little more than yoga with those brothers of yours. Do they all interfere, or is it just the oldest, Harry?”

Zayn didn’t pretend not to know what he was talking about. “All of them,” he said. “And it’s getting really frustrating.”

“I would think so.”

“What do you suggest I do?”

He draped his jacket over the back of a chair and started working on his tie.

“About your brothers?”

“No, about stress … tension.”

He suddenly realized he was breaking his own rule of not getting involved, but he couldn’t stop himself. “Stop being so fucking nice.”

Zayn looked taken aback yet also pleased. “You think I’m nice?”

“Being nice isn’t always a good thing.”

He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “What about you? You’re in a high-stress job. How do you get rid of all the tension?”

“I shoot bad guys, and I get to break a lot of heads … and noses and arms.”

Zayn laughed and shook his head. “You do not. I’ve got news for you, Detective. You’re not such a tough man. You’re actually kind of sweet.”

Now it was his turn to laugh. “Sweet? That’s a new one. I’m definitely not sweet. I’ve been told I can be a real mean mother …”

“Yes?”

“Trust me on this. I can be mean, real mean.”

Zayn didn’t believe him, but he wasn’t going to argue. He realized Liam had to be tough because of his job, but he also sensed that there was an ingrained goodness and decency about him.

Liam stretched his shoulders and rolled his head, trying to work out the knot in the back of his neck. Zayn was distracted by his broad shoulders. The man was way too sexy for his own good. He tried to imagine what he would look like shirtless.

 _Get control of your thoughts, Zayn!_ He cleared his throat, straightened in his chair, and folded his hands on the desk. “You don’t need to stay, Detective.”

“Liam,” he reminded him.

“Okay,” he said. “You don’t need to stay, Liam. I’ll be fine here. I’m sure you have better things to do than babysit me.”

“You’re still not catching on, are you? You’re not getting rid of me. The only place I’m going is to your sofa.” He added, “And just so you understand, I’m with you until you’re in your bed for the night.”

“Are you going to tuck me in?” he was actually being a bit sarcastic, but Liam didn’t take it that way.

“That depends on you,” he said. His eyes sparkled with mischief.

Zayn swallowed. “Oh?”

He inwardly groaned. Was that the best he could come up with? Oh? Louis would know what to say, and he’d say it in a teasing, come-get-me voice.

Liam leaned against the side of his desk. “How long have you been living here?”

“A while.” he didn’t want to explain why. He picked up a stack of what looked like messages and began to go through them.

“So how come?”

Ignoring him hadn’t worked. He was still half sitting on the side of his desk while he waited for him to explain. He watched him pull his tie loose and drop it on the corner of his desk. He noticed he had small birthmark on his neck then, when he opened his first two shirt buttons. He wouldn’t be surprised if he kicked off his shoes next.

“Could you get any more comfortable?”

“Yes, I could. So how come?”

He definitely wasn’t going to give up. “I had an apartment …”

“Yes?”

Zayn sighed. “But I moved back home when my mother became ill.”

He frowned. “Was she alone?”

“No. She had nurses and a full staff to see to her every need, and my stepfather was still living there, but she wanted me close to her … until it was over.”

“And when was it over?”

“Eleven months ago.”

“And your stepfather?”

Zayn stiffened. “What about him?”

Liam knew he’d poked a sore spot. His body language intrigued him, his body was tense. “I just wondered what happened to him.”

“Nothing happened to him. He’s still living in the house.”

“With the staff?”

“Yes,” he said.

“That must be lonely for him.”

He scoffed. “He isn’t lonely.”

“How come?” he urged.

“He lives there with his new wife.”

“Ah.” Now he understood the reason for his prickly, uptight attitude.

He said the obvious. “He didn’t mourn long, did he?”

He’d hit a nerve. Zayn decided not to mince words. “No, he didn’t mourn long. In fact, he didn’t mourn at all. He was never faithful to my mother for the very short time they were married, and he was already sleeping with Cindy before my mother became ill.”

“And he married Cindy.”

“Yes.”

“When?”

He was as stiff as a surfboard again. “Three days after the funeral.”

Man, that was cold, he thought. “I guess it bothers you to talk about this, doesn’t it.”

“It’s a little late for that question, isn’t it? How come you’re so curious about my family?”

“I’m not curious about your family.”

“Oh? Then why all the questions…”

He cut him off. “I’m curious about you.”

It wasn’t what he said so much as how he said it, with a warm glint in his eyes Zayn couldn’t quite decipher. Was he flirting with him? No, of course he wasn’t. Why would he be interested in him when he could have any woman he ever wanted? And probably had. He was such a straitlaced … nerd. Yes, a nerd, he thought, especially when compared to his friends. Zayn believed that everything about him was ordinary, boringly ordinary.

He did have money, however, as Niall and Danny pointed out every chance they got, and Zayn was sure money was why most men paid attention to him. At various functions they swarmed around him like hungry bees. Niall called them parasites. Liam wasn’t a parasite, though, and he didn’t seem to be the least impressed with his money. The man was simply being a good detective, and that was why he asked so many personal questions.

“You’ve been assigned to protect me,” he said. “And that’s why you’re so curious about me.”

Liam didn’t miss a beat. “That too,” he said as he turned and walked across the office.

He swivelled in his chair to face the computer and pretended to be busy. Out of the corner of his eye he watched him. He plumped a couple of pillows and sat down on the sofa with a loud sigh.

“Damn, this is comfortable,” he said. “So tell me, Zayn. How long was your stepfather married to your mother?”

Zayn didn’t look at him when he answered. “Long enough to think he should get half of everything she owned.”

“Is there a legal battle brewing?”

“I know he’s consulted a couple of attorneys in hopes that one of them will find a way to break the prenup. By now he must know that my mother didn’t own much of anything, not even the house she lived in.”

“The house Emerson’s living in with Cindy?”

“Yes.”

“Huh. So who owns it?” Before Zayn could answer, he said, “Harry? Or do you and all your brothers own it jointly?”

“All of us.”

He leaned forward. “And yet you’re the one who moved out?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

Zayn turned back to the computer screen, hoping that he would let the subject drop.

No such luck. “So how come?”

He began to laugh. “You just don’t give up, do you? No wonder you’re a good detective.”

“How do you know I’m good?” he asked with a small smile.

“I just do.”

“Not good,” he said, and in a burst of ego, he added, “Great.”

Zayn laughed again. “I wish I had your confidence.”

“You still haven’t answered my question,” he reminded him.

He took his shoes off, swung his feet up on an ottoman, and stacked his hands on his chest.

“How come I moved out of the house? I promised my mother that I would let Emerson stay on in the house for a year. She hoped that he would be able to get it together in that time.”

“You mean get a job?”

“Yes,” he said. “She never knew he cheated on her, at least I don’t think she did, and she certainly didn’t think he would remarry so quickly.”

“Harry agreed to this year plan?”

“Of course. It’s what our mother wanted. Why wouldn’t he agree?”

“He seems to be the one who calls all the shots and runs things around here.”

“He’s the most ambitious one in the family and certainly the most driven,” Zayn said. Frowning, he added, “But you’re right. He does like to run things around here. I just wish …”

“What?”

“I just wish I understood why he thinks he can run my life.” Zayn pondered with a scowl.

“That one’s easy.”

“Oh? Why then?”

“You let him.”


	19. Chapter Eighteen

Zayn had cleared his desk. Every piece of paperwork had been signed, mailed, or filed; every e-mail had been read, deleted, or answered, and every phone call had been returned.

He had miscalculated and had thought it would take him several more days to get everything done, and he wasn’t happy about being caught up. He wanted to bury himself in work to keep busy. An idle mind … worries. At least his did. He drummed his fingertips on the desk.

He still hadn’t openly acknowledged that he was in danger and that he needed a bodyguard, because to do so would put it all right there in front of his face, and he would have to deal with it. He knew he was being an idiot, trying to face reality, but at the moment he didn’t particularly care. He was afraid and feeling powerless, and that was just plain awful.

Liam closed the magazine he was reading and then picked up a remote and turned to him. He saw his expression and asked, “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.”

He knew Zayn had to be feeling caged. Every move he made was being watched. He decided he wouldn’t press. “Okay,” he said. He held up the remote and asked, “Where’s the television hidden?”

“Push the top button,” he said.

He was intrigued. As soon as he pushed the button, a seam in the wall adjacent to the window slowly slid back to reveal his dream come true. An entertainment centre filled with all the latest technology. He whistled over the size of the flat-screen QLED smart TV.

He settled back to watch the news but glanced at him again and noticed the frown hadn’t gone away. “Come on. Tell me. What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. I was just thinking.”

“About what?”

Zayn wasn’t going to tell him the truth—that he worried he wouldn’t have enough courage when he needed it—or admit that he was afraid of being afraid, because he knew he wouldn’t understand. How could he? He probably put himself in harm’s way all the time. He was used to danger, and he was used to standing up when it mattered.

Was he ever afraid? Probably, but Zayn doubted that fear would ever stop him from doing what was needed, and wasn’t that what courage was all about—not letting the fear stop you from doing the right thing?

“Zayn?”

He realized he hadn’t answered him. “I was thinking about that expression, an idle mind …”

“Gathers no moss?”

He smiled. “I don’t think that’s how it goes.”

Zayn lost him then. The sports portion of the news came on, luring him like a siren with the promise of scores and clips from all the games in the premier league. As though in a trance, he immediately turned back to the television screen. Zayn was exasperated. What is it with men in his life? Liam’s behaviour was like Danny’s, Niall’s and even Louis’. No matter how busy they were, they stopped everything at the sight of a football match. He had a feeling his bodyguard had the same addiction.

Zayn dusted his desk and then began to turn one of the pages of his Far Side calendar back and forth while he surreptitiously studied Liam. He had a beautiful profile, he decided. A nice cute nose, a great mouth with a plump set of red lips. His hair was dark brown and thick and kept drooping down on his forehead. He needed a haircut. His hair was given to curl, and he had the insane urge to touch it. Were other people drawn to him the way he was? No doubt, he thought. With his good looks and his sexy aura, he probably had a lot of people falling all over him. Oh, he knew his type. He had that bad-boy, love-them-and-leave-them thing going. How many tears had been shed over him? How many hearts had he broken?

“You about finished?” His gaze never left the television when he asked the question.

How long had he been staring at him? “Just about,” Zayn answered as he quickly looked at his desk and began to shuffle papers around.

He was saved from having any awkward discussion when his phone rang. He almost fell out of his chair when he lunged for the receiver.

Louis was on the line. Just hearing his voice made Zayn feel better.

“Are you all right?” he asked. “Is Gigi?”

“Yes, we’re both fine.”

“You took your time calling me back. I’ve been worried.”

“Worried about what? Everything’s fine, and I only just now checked my messages. Gigi and I have been real busy, and I’ve got loads to tell you, but first things first. I’ve got to make you feel bad because you didn’t come with us.”

Zayn smiled. He was so relieved to know his friends were okay. Now that he had Louis on the phone, Zayn could take his time telling him everything that had happened.

“And how are you going to make me feel bad?”

“The weather. It’s beautiful here, and do you know why?”

“I’ll bite. Why?”

“It isn’t raining. How is it there?”

“Twenty five degrees, not a cloud in the sky, absolutely no humidity, and there’s a soft breeze—”

“Tell the truth,” Louis interrupted.

Zayn laughed. “We’re supposed to get more rain tonight, and it’s chilly here. And now I do feel bad because I didn’t go with you. Satisfied?”

“Yes,” Lou said. “And since it’s still so awful in London, I’m staying here, until I run out of sunscreen, anyway.”

“If you’re about finished talking about the weather, I’ve got some news.”

“Oh? How much do you want to bet my news is bigger?”

“I doubt that, but you go first.”

“We’re already piling up evidence against Shields.”

Zayn straightened in his chair. “Really? So soon?”

“Yes,” he answered, his voice brimming with enthusiasm. “It was easy, too, because Shields always has the women he brings down here stay at the same hotel. It’s called The Murdock, and it’s a small, family-owned place with lots of charm. Most of the staff have been working there for years. They’re very loyal.”

“And that’s important because …?”

“They remember past guests.”

“Okay. Go on.”

“We’ve gotten the names of two women Shields had down here last year, and guess what? They were both widowed, and they were both very rich. Oh, and we also got copies of Shields’s bank accounts.”

“You what?”

Louis repeated what he’d just said. Then Zayn blurted, “That’s illegal.”

Liam was watching him. He was pretty sure he’d heard what he’d said. He smiled at him, then turned his chair to face the wall and lowered his voice. “How in heaven’s name did you get his bank records? If you aren’t careful, you’ll both end up in jail.”

“Stop being a wuss. We’re being careful,” Louis assured him. “We didn’t break into the bank to get the records. Someone got them for us.”

“Who?”

“A friend of a friend of Gigi’s father,” he said. “And so far we know for a fact that Shields has taken huge amounts of money from these two women.”

“How do you know that?”

“With copies of the checks the women wrote. The bank keeps records, for heaven’s sake, especially when the deposits are so large.”

“But how did you get copies of the checks? No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”

“Gigi’s dad has a lot of friends down here.”

“That’s not good.”

“I know, but I’m watching out for Gigi. It’s okay.”

“And who’s looking out for you?”

“Zayn, stop worrying.”

“Where’s Gigi now?”

“She went back to The Murdock. We already have the names and addresses of the two women we can prove gave Shields money, but Gigi wanted to make sure there weren’t any others. So what do you think? We’ve made a good start, haven’t we?”

“I’d say so,” he replied, “but …”

“We haven’t seen Shields yet, but we know he’s inside his beach house because we’ve seen his bodyguards, Lillo and Stitch, on the beach. They’re wearing their uniform black suits and dark ties and sunglasses while they walk on the sand. They look like Feds.”

“‘Lillo and Stitch’?”

“I’ve got to call them something, don’t I?”

“I guess so. Do they stay out on the beach all day?” he could picture them melting in the hot sun.

“No, they have a schedule. During the day they come out every hour on the hour, and they stay outside ten minutes tops. Shields obviously isn’t feeling very safe if he has to have his bodyguards with him all the time. Gigi thinks he’s becoming paranoid because of all the horrible things he’s done.”

“But you haven’t seen him?”

“No.”

“Thank God,” he whispered.

Louis didn’t hear him. “Here’s the odd thing. Shields’s neighbour to the south is keeping tabs on the bodyguards—”

“How did Gigi get the neighbour to do that?”

“She asked. They’re very friendly down here.”

“Is the neighbour a man?”

Louis laughed. “Yes,” he said. “Anyway, Lillo and Stitch have stopped patrolling. Something is definitely going on, but we can’t figure out what yet.”

“Are you finished with your news? Is it my turn?”

“Just one more thing. A woman has visited Shields twice now. Gigi swears she saw her at the seminar. I don’t remember her,” he said. “But Gigi is much better with faces than I am. Anyway, the woman is staying at The Murdock and we’re pretty sure she’s Shields’s next target.”

“He doesn’t waste any time, does he?” Zayn kicked off his shoes, crossed one leg over the other, and began to swing one foot nervously back and forth.

“No, he doesn’t. Gigi’s becoming obsessed about spotting him. She’s jogged on the beach behind his house a couple of times, but she hasn’t had any luck. We’re going to take one of the boats out tomorrow with our binoculars and see if we can spot him inside. The back of his house faces the ocean, and it’s all glass. If he’s in there, we’ll see him. Knowing Gigi, if she doesn’t spot him soon, she’ll jog right up to his front door and start pounding.”

Zayn almost dropped the phone as he jerked upright in his chair. “Oh, no, she mustn’t do that.”

“All right, I’m finished. Now it’s your turn. Try to beat my news.”

“Okay. Remember that little exercise we did during Shields’s reception?”

“The make-a-list-of-the-people-you-want-dead exercise?”

“That’s the one.”

“What about it?”

“A madman got hold of my murder list and is now killing everyone on it.”

A long silence followed his announcement, and then Louis said, “Okay, you win.”

“I thought I might.”

“Wait a minute. You are joking, aren’t you?”

Zayn’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I wish to God I were. It’s true, though.”

“Tell me.”

His friend didn’t say another word during Zayn’s lengthy explanation of what had happened, but he did gasp, several times as a matter of fact, and when Zayn was finished, he whispered back, “Who else did you have on your list?”

Zayn told her and then said, “I was so certain there was a connection between Sweeney’s murder and Shields.”

“But now you’re not so sure?”

“I’m not sure of anything. Until we know, you and Gigi have got to stay as far away from him as possible.”

“No wonder we can’t find Shields, and no wonder his bodyguards aren’t patrolling the beach. I’ll bet the police have warned them, and they’ve all gone into hiding.”

A minute later, just as Zayn was about to hang up, Gigi got back to the condo. Louis shouted at her that Zayn was on the phone. Gigi picked up the extension in the kitchen.

“Hey, guess what?” She didn’t give Zayn time to answer. “Shields and his bodyguards have left the island, and no one, not even the police, know where they went.”

“How’d you find that out?” Louis asked.

“A friend of a friend.”

“Are you going to tell her or should I?” Louis asked Zayn.

“I’ll hang up and, you can—”

“Tell me what?”

While Zayn waited, Louis repeated what Zayn had told him. Gigi was shocked into silence.

“What are the police there saying?” she finally asked.

“Detective Payne is hoping that whoever sent the e-mail and the fax will try to contact me again. Detective Wincott agrees.”

“Okay, who’s Detective Wincott?”

“He’s in charge of the investigation.”

“And Detective Payne? Is he his partner or something?” Louis asked.

“No, he’s my temporary bodyguard.”

“Dear God …”

“It’s okay, Lou.”

“We’re coming home on the next flight.”

“No, Gigi, don’t do that. Since Shields has already left the island, you’re probably as safe there as any place.”

Louis added, “He thinks Shields is somehow involved in what’s been happening because Sweeney was investigating him.”

“I admit, it’s not a firm connection,” Zayn said.

“Sweeney hadn’t done anything yet, so how could Shields have known about him?” Gigi asked.

“I still think we should pack it up and head back to London. We should be there with you, Zayn.”

“No,” he replied. “Stay there and finish what you started. What you’re doing is important, and it sounds like you’re making great progress.”

“We are,” Gigi agreed. “But we’ll need to stay here another week, maybe even two. There’s so much cross-checking to do with names and dates, and now that I’ve got the hotel’s registration records that go way back—”

“Did a friend of a friend get those for you too?”

“No,” Gigi said. “I just asked, and they handed them over.”

“We are making progress,” Louis said. “And, Gigi, you did want to talk to that woman who’s staying at The Murdock, and you better do that soon before she finds out Shields has left. This is the perfect opportunity, and we both want to know what Shields promised her.”

“Wouldn’t it be something if she would help us?”

“We could nail him.”

“Call me with updates, okay?”

“Wait, Zee. Are you going to be okay?” Louis asked.

“I’ll be fine.” he looked at his empty desk and decided to lie to ease Louis’s anxiety. “I’ve got so much work to do. I won’t have time to worry, and I’m perfectly safe in my office.”

“Okay,” Louis said. “No matter what, we’ll be home in time for the country club charity thing, but that’s two full weeks away.”

“By then, the police will probably have the madman behind bars,” Gigi said.

Zayn hoped she was right. By the time he finally hung up the phone, Liam had stopped watching the television. Zayn stood, stretched, and then told him about some of his conversation with his friends.

“The police down there verified that Shields and his bodyguards have left the island. Do you think Louis and Gigi will be safe?”

“Yeah, I think they will be, as long as …”

“As long as what?”

He decided to be blunt. “As long as they stay away from you.”

***

Zayn kept himself busy for another time, just throwing everything he didn’t need, taking his sweet time shredding unwanted documents while Liam was making himself comfortable on the couch flipping through the channels.

“Would you take a break? You’re jerky movements are giving me a headache.” Liam said with a smile.

Zayn stopped, hands stuck in the middle of tearing yet another paper.

“Ugh, yeah okay!” he threw the paper in the bin beside his desk and moved to the couch. Liam made place for him.

“Would you care to watch a movie?” he asked as Zayn made himself comfortable.

Zayn smiled.

“That’s probably the best proposal I’ve heard today.”


	20. Chapter Nineteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Has it been that long!  
> Sorry for being late guys :/  
> Hope you enjoy this chapter

Zayn was reaching his breaking point. Two full weeks had passed since he had received the photo of Sweeney, and his nerves were becoming more and more frayed. One day dragged into another and another. He thought he was going to go crazy being cooped up inside the hotel. Detective Wincott would check in periodically and let him know how the investigation was going. The police had ruled out any connection between Shields and Sweeney, which meant that the killer was still out there, and still unknown. Waiting for something to happen was making him anxious and irritable.

Keeping busy helped, and since he was caught up with work, he decided to tear his office apart and reorganize. Behind one long wall were file cabinets crammed with papers, and all of them needed to be cleaned out.

Zayn really got into the task. Some of the files had already been transferred into discs or the systems data base, and those files could be shredded. Other files needed to be consolidated, and he was determined to see that was done too. There was a system to his reorganization, but he was the only one who knew what it was. There were stacks of file folders and papers all over his office floor. It had become an obstacle course from Henry’s office to his desk, but he felt he was making progress.

He wasn’t making any progress with his brothers though and he was developing a real love/hate relationship with them. Niall had been delayed in Dublin, but he called him at least three times a day just to check in and make certain he was doing okay. Danny was also calling. His messages always had the same theme. He wouldn’t give up on the idea of Zayn traveling with him until this situation was resolved.

After two weeks of the constant phone calls, Zayn decided he was through placating them. He asked Henry to screen his calls and not put Niall or Danny through.

Harry was also making him crazy. He wanted to have a long talk with him. He had had it with his constant interference, and he was determined to make him listen to what he had to say. Then he would go to work on the other two. He didn’t care if it was bad timing or not. He was sick and tired of all three of his brothers trying to run his business and his personal life, and if he wanted anything to change, he would have to start with the most aggressive brother, Harry. If he could just get him to stop interfering, then the other two, like dominos, would follow his lead.

That was the plan, anyway … if Harry would stand still long enough to listen. He had cancelled a business trip to stay in London and was looking in on him a hundred times a day, and yet he just couldn’t find the time to sit down and have a conversation. Harry knew where he was every second, and when he couldn’t personally look in on him, the security guards he’d hired kept tabs for him. Zayn knew he was worried, and in this instance, he understood why he was being so overly protective. What he found amazing, however, was the way he could vanish whenever he asked for a few minutes of his time.

Kevin sent a message through Henry that Harry simply didn’t have time to listen to Zayn’s petty complaints. Henry had been furious when he conveyed it.

“I’ve finally figured out his plan,” Henry said. “He wants you out of here, and he’s going to do anything and everything to make that happen.”

“He does know I’m Harry’s brother though, doesn’t he?” Zayn was teasing to let Henry know he wasn’t upset.

“Of course he knows, but when he started, he didn’t know who you were. He was rude and obnoxious. Since he can’t fix the past and he knows you don’t like him, he’s got to make you look incompetent. That way, Harry won’t listen to you about anything, including your opinion of him.”

Before Zayn could say a word, Henry continued. “He’s after your brother. He wants to marry him, and you, Zayn, are messing with his plans.”

“Harry will figure out what he’s doing, and he would never have said ‘petty complaints.’”

Harry was deliberately avoiding Zayn, though, giving him time to cool down. He had to have known how furious he was about his car—he still couldn’t believe he’d had the audacity to have it towed away—but he also knew that if he waited long enough, Zayn would eventually get over it and let it wash over him the way he let everything else these days.

He knew what the problem was. He loved his brothers and would do anything for them. He went to great lengths to keep them happy, even to the point of trying to change who he was.

When he was growing up, Harry had always been the one he went to solve his problems, probably because he was the oldest and more of a father figure. He was also the most rigid. He couldn’t stand to see him cry—which he seemed to be able to do at the drop of a hat back then—but over the years he’d tried really hard to learn to hold his feelings in. Sometimes, though, they bubbled to the surface.

Zayn took after father’s family. They were all very emotional, at least that was what Niall had told him. The Styles, on the other hand, were stoic and much disciplined. They were also workaholics like Harry and Niall. No one knew what side of the family Danny took after, but it was theorized that he was a throwback to a great-great-uncle who began to sow his wild oats when he hit puberty and didn’t stop until he was on his deathbed.

At the moment, Zayn didn’t want to be related to anyone. The conditions of the will had put him in a no-win position with his brothers, and just as Liam had said, the stress would do him in if he didn’t find an outlet.

His brothers weren’t the only ones giving him trouble. He was also developing a love/hate relationship with Liam. The truth was, he loved being with him—he was smart and funny and sweet and kind—but he hated the reason why he was always there at his side.

For two weeks now, Zayn and Liam had been inseparable. The detective refused to take any days off and only left him after a policeman had been posted on his floor, between the lift doors and the stairs, which were the only ways to get to his suite. Liam was the last person he saw every night before he locked his door, and the first person he saw in the morning when he stepped out into the hall.

Liam was definitely growing on him, but he kept wondering—would he even have given him the time of day if it hadn’t been his job to protect him? If he had met him under different circumstances, would he have been interested? Would he have wanted to ask him out?

Henry also liked having him around. The two seemed to talk for hours about sports trivia and boy bands, and when Henry was struggling over a paper he was writing for a summer political science course, Liam offered to help him. Before long, Henry was asking his advice about relatioships and his own future.

In the evenings, Zayn and Henry and Liam changed into running clothes and worked out together in the gym. Liam kicked their asses on the track. He was in much better shape than Zayn was and gleefully pointed that out, several times, as a matter of fact. Zayn used his recent surgery as an excuse for having to hold back, but each day he went a little faster and a little farther. There was an annual charity race coming up, Zayn told Liam, and he wanted to walk as much of the course as he could.

Zayn knew he couldn’t follow his normal routine, and he cooperated as much as he could, but there were a couple of events he refused to cancel or postpone because he felt they were too important. One of them took place at the hotel, and that made things easier for Liam.

It was toward the end of the second week, and Zayn was getting ready for the reception he was hosting that evening. He wanted everything to go smoothly. Liam helped him measure the spacing between hooks on the walls in the corridor leading from the lobby to gallery connected, and when they were finished there, he followed him to the atrium and he checked the measurements there. He had already had the electricians work on the gallery lighting, and George from maintenance was happy to lend a hand.

“Are you going to tell me what we’re doing and why?” Liam asked as he handed him the measuring tape again.

“We’re measuring the distance between the paintings one last time just to make sure the spacing is right. I don’t want them to look crammed together.”

“Where are these paintings?”

Zayn smiled. “You’ll see.”

Liam could feel Zayn’s excitement, and his curiosity was aroused. He didn’t even mind that he had to wear his suit a little longer.

Zayn changed into a simple black tux with a scarlet necktie. Because he was running late, he didn’t have time to do something extravagant with his hair. So he messed it up, sprayed it, and was on his way out the door with five minutes to spare.

The reception began at seven o’clock. Liam wasn’t happy about the crowd gathered in the atrium. Zayn was overjoyed with nervous energy. When he tried to walk away from him, he grabbed his hand and forced him in to his side.

He leaned down and whispered in his ear, “Stay with me.”

Zayn nodded to let him know he had heard what he said.

They were both getting speculative looks from men and women. Zayn introduced Liam as his friend, but Henry was being plied with questions. Was Zayn serious about this man? Who exactly was he, and what did he do for a living?

Henry’s friend Kyle had also been invited, and he helped Henry with last-minute details.

After Zayn had welcomed his guests, he took Liam’s hand and led him to the first of twelve beautifully framed paintings. The cream-colored walls came to life next to the vibrant and joyful colours. Yes, joyful, Liam thought as he studied one bold abstract. The names of the artists were printed in black block letters on a white square plate underneath each painting.

“I’ve never heard of any of these artists,” he said.

“You’ll get to meet them before they become famous.” Zayn explained with a boyish grin on his face. “Do you have a favourite painting?”

He shook his head. “I like all of them.”

Henry and Kyle stood together while they waited for a quiet moment to talk to Liam. Kyle’s hands were jammed into his pockets, and he was shifting from foot to foot.

“Don’t lose your nerve,” Henry whispered. “Liam will help you. I know he will.”

“I won’t lose my nerve. I’m gonna do it. So when do you think—”

“After the presentation but before he takes Zayn upstairs.” Henry’s gaze was on Zayn and Liam. “They look good together, don’t they?”

They were laughing and talking, and Henry noticed Zayn taking Liam’s arm as he guided him from picture to picture. They seemed so comfortable with each other. As they headed back to the atrium, Henry and Kyle intercepted them. Liam shook Kyle’s hand when Henry introduced him. He could feel the kid trembling, but he already knew from the look in his eyes that he was scared.

“You look familiar,” he said, thinking he might have busted him at one time.

“I work at The Palms,” Kyle said. “Maybe you saw me there.”

“Maybe.”

Zayn didn’t seem to notice there was anything wrong. He spotted a woman who nodded to him. “They’re here,” he told Henry.

“Maybe later we could … uh, you know, maybe talk,” Kyle said to Liam.

“Yeah, okay. Later.”

“Are you ready, Henry?” Zayn asked.

“Let’s do it.”

Liam stayed by Zayn’s side as they made their way through the crowd to the podium. The guests had all been plied with food and drink, and the mood was quite jovial.

***

The uninvited guest stood in the crowd watching him, waiting for his opportunity. Slowly he slithered his way toward him, closer and closer. For a few minutes he stood just feet away pretending to admire a painting while he eavesdropped on his conversation with a man he called Liam. If he could just get close enough to touch him, maybe he could separate him from the throng of people, get him alone, but each time he made his move, the man he was with got in the way and wouldn’t let him out of his sight. He was the centre of attention, the star. Wherever he turned, there was another guest eager for a moment of his time. It took him twenty minutes to weave his way close again, but just as he was extending his hand to take hiss and request a moment of privacy, Liam ushered him in the opposite direction. His frustration grew. He couldn’t get to him. Tonight would not be the night. He would have to wait for another opportunity, but eventually the right moment would come, and he would be ready. Unnoticed, he slipped out the side door.

* * *

Henry motioned to the string quartet to take a break. He stood next to Zayn as he once again welcomed everyone, and then he introduced Henry and moved back so that he could speak into the microphone.

As he was talking about the importance of art and music in public schools, the twelve artists filed in and stood in front of the podium. With a great deal of pride in his voice, Henry presented each one.

Liam was impressed and a little stunned. Not one of the artists was more than fourteen or fifteen years old. Now he understood what Zayn had meant when he said he would meet them before they became famous, for their amazing talent was just beginning to blossom. The paintings were for sale, the price of each steep, but every dollar would go to the art departments in the schools the artists represented. Henry also introduced the teachers involved in the new program and explained that the artists would receive scholarships and art supplies.

Every painting had been sold by nine o’clock. Zayn was thrilled and so proud of Henry, he hugged him. He kept giving him all the credit, but Henry told Liam that Zayn had come up with the idea. He’d merely implemented it.

The party was over by ten, and though it wasn’t all that late, Zayn was tired, he needed to recharge since social events like these always took a tall on him; he wanted to go up to his suite, take a hot shower, and fall into bed.

They were crossing the lobby together with Henry and Kyle trailing behind. Zayn was telling Liam the reason behind the art project.

“Whenever schools run into financial trouble, they take away money from the art and music budget. The administrators … they forget.”

“Forget what?” he asked.

Henry answered. “It’s like Zayn says. Education isn’t just about feeding the brain. Art and music feed the heart and the soul.”

Liam agreed. Then Henry said, “There will always be paintings hanging on those walls, and when one sells, we’ll put another one up. It will be an ongoing thing. It’s a cool idea, isn’t it? The goal is to do this in all the Styles hotels.”

Kyle nudged Henry and whispered, “I want to get this over with.”

Henry spoke up. “Hey, Zayn, how about stopping for a drink?”

The bar was just off the lobby, and there were only a couple of people inside. Liam suggested they get a table and order a drink.

Liam squeezed Zayn’s hand. “If you want me to take you upstairs, I’m sure the policeman is already stationed outside your door. I’ll check your suite, lock you in, and come back down here. The guys won’t mind waiting.”

“That’s okay,” Zayn said. “I’ll get a drink with you.”

The bar was dark and cosy, the walls a rich walnut panelling. Henry rushed ahead and found a table tucked in the corner that faced the side exit. He pulled out a chair for Zayn, but Liam didn’t approve. He wanted him to sit with his back against the wall. Once Zayn was settled, he expected the others to join him, but none of them sat down. Henry and Kevin had their heads down and were looking very ill at ease.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

Henry darted a quick look at Liam before answering. “What it is …” he began, and then nudged Kyle.

“Yes?” he asked.

Zayn marvelled at the change in Henry. When he had stood at the podium and had spoken to the guests tonight, he had been polished and eloquent. Now he was acting like an insecure teenager. Henry only reverted to that behaviour when something was very wrong or had him riled up.

“I just thought that maybe Kyle would want to talk to Detective Payne for a couple of minutes, and he said okay, about talking … you know, so Kyle can run something by him.”

Henry seemed to need his approval, and so he said, “That’s fine.”

Liam put his hand on Henry’s shoulder. “Henry, sit with Zayn while Kyle and I talk.” He turned to Zayn. “Don’t you move,” he said to him with a strict note that ended with a smile.

Zayn rolled his eyes. Ordering him to stay put hadn’t really been necessary, since he never let him out of his sight. Liam and Kyle went down the three steps to the corridor and stood off to the side. Liam towered over Kyle, so he leaned down to hear what he was saying.

Zayn couldn’t read anything in Liam’s expression, but poor Kyle was clearly falling apart. His complexion went from ashen white to flushed red, and he was talking fast and gesturing with his hands. A tear slipped down his cheek, and he angrily wiped it away. Then he glanced at Zayn. He quickly turned to Henry, so Kyle wouldn’t know he had been watching him.

“Is Kyle in trouble?”

“Not Kyle … someone else. It’s kind of private stuff, but he said I could tell you.”

The waiter appeared with a small silver bowl filled with cashews. Henry ordered beers for all of them and then sat back. He continued. “He’s scared. His mother … you know, she left a couple of years ago. She just walked out.”

“Yes, I know,” Zayn replied.

“His dad got a divorce, and that was a good move, and he got sole custody of the kids too. Anyway, Kyle’s mother suddenly showed up again and she wasn’t alone … and they’re bringing the junk back into the house … you know, drugs.”

“Why didn’t Kyle’s father—?”

“Kick them out? He tried, but they aren’t going anywhere. His dad farmed the kids out to friends, and Kyle thought maybe Liam could help him.”

“Poor Kyle,” he whispered. “I can’t imagine how he must be feeling.”

“He thinks he’s playing it cool, but he isn’t.” Henry watched his friend for a minute and then turned back to Zayn. “How do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Stay cool. I mean, come on, you’ve got a nut out there doing crazy stuff. You’ve got a bodyguard and security—”

“I’m not cool about it,” he said. “But I try not to dwell on it.”

“Waiting for something to happen … that’s what’s scary. I get freaked out thinking about it. If anything happened to you, I don’t know what I’d do. I mean …”

He put his hand on top of his. “It’s going to be okay. You’ll see.”

Zayn sounded as though he knew what he was talking about, but like Henry, he got anxiety thinking about it. Then he looked at Liam and he relaxed. As long as he was with him, he was safe.

The waiter placed the drinks on the table. Zayn thanked him, picked up his glass, and took a sip. His gaze kept going back to Liam. Henry noticed.

“What are you going to do when he leaves?”

“I guess someone else will be assigned to follow me around.”

“That’s not what I mean. Come on, Zayn. You’re talking to me. You don’t have to pretend. I’ve been watching you two. You’ve got this connection. You know what I’m talking about?”

Oh, boy, did he. “I like him,” he admitted. “He kind of grows on you, but he isn’t at all my type.”

“You mean the sterile type?”

Zayn smiled. “What’s that?”

“Every button buttoned, always in a suit and tie, and looking immaculate all the time. I used to think Harry was the sterile type, but then I played rugby with him in that charity game, and man, did I change my mind. He was muddy and brutal. Definitely not the sterile type. And neither is Detective Payne—I mean Liam.

He told me to call him Liam—I’ll bet he’d be brutal on the field too.”

“I’m sure he’d play to win,” Zayn agreed. “He is kind of … sloppy,” he added, and almost made it sound like a compliment, it was really something Zayn found endearing.

Henry finished his drink, then picked up the one he’d ordered for Kyle and gulped it down in two swallows. He couldn’t seem to figure out what to do with his hands. He lifted his empty glass, swirled the ice around a couple of times, and then put the glass back down. Zayn handed him his drink, and he gulped that down too.

“I’m thirsty,” he said.

“You’re nervous.”

“That too,” he agreed.

Zayn’s heart went out to Kyle. He had backed away from Liam, but Liam grabbed his arm and shook his head. He put his finger in front of the young man’s face and started talking. Zayn couldn’t hear what he was saying, but Kyle appeared to be hanging on his every word. He didn’t look as anxious or fearful.

Liam Payne was a good man. He felt a tightness in his throat as he watched him, and Zayn suddenly realized that the attraction he’d felt for him had grown into something much more complicated. How was that even possible?

“Here they come,” Henry whispered.

Kyle came back into the bar first. His eyes were red. “We should probably go,” he said to Henry.

“So should we,” Liam said. “It’s getting late.”

Zayn immediately stood. He said good night to the boys. A few minutes later, Liam was seeing him to his suite.

“Listen, I’ll be a little late in the morning. I’ve got some things to do … packing and stuff. I’ll make sure the policeman on duty stays until I get here.”

Zayn had a feeling that the “stuff” had something to do with Kyle, but he wasn’t going to ask.

“That’s fine,” he said.

“Good night, then.”

He was pulling the door closed. “Wait,” Zayn said.

He stopped. “Yes?”

“Tomorrow … be careful … packing. Okay?” He said his heart racing and already feeling a heat on his cheeks.

“Yeah, okay.” He answered with half a smile.

Zayn bolted the door and leaned against it. He knew he would be dreaming about Liam tonight, but he vowed that tomorrow he would take that step back and start being practical again. There was only one little problem with his decision.

He had no fucking idea how.


	21. Chapter Twenty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys sorry for late updates... work and life ugh Xxx  
> i hope you enjoy and I'm also sorry for the short chapter :/ but lots of Ziam

When Zayn woke up the next day, he felt as if rocks were having a battle in his stomach as he had gone by his morning routines. Liam still was not there and he knew it was his anxiety acting up because he was worried about Kyle and Liam.

 

Henry told him what had happened. He rushed into his office, closed the doors behind him, and said, “I know you’re worried about Kyle, so I just wanted you to know it all worked out.”

 

Zayn had been searching through his desk drawers looking for his stash of gummy bears. He immediately gave Henry his full attention. He looked up and saw how relieved Henry was. “That’s good to know.” He said with a tense smile.

 

Henry wanted to talk. “Kyle is on his way up. That’s okay, isn’t it?”

 

“Of course it is.”

 

“He said it was real bad for a while.”

 

“It was?”

 

“Liam had it all set up. He told Kyle’s dad to keep the kids out of there, and he did. Anyway, Kyle didn’t want to leave, so he saw it go down.”

 

“Was Kyle in the house while this was happening?”

 

“No,” he said. “He was across the street, staying out of the way. I think maybe he was hiding so Liam wouldn’t make him leave. He said that for a minute there he was afraid of Liam. I guess a couple of his mother’s friends resisted, and Liam and the others with him had to get … uh, physical so they could get the cuffs on them. I sure wish I’d been there. Kyle said the look on Liam’s face when he was … you know, having to get physical, was scary.”

 

“I’m glad you weren’t there,” Zayn said.

 

Henry pushed some papers out of his way and sat on the edge of Zayn’s desk. “I’ll bet they knew Kyle was there. Liam told Kyle’s mother she’d get the opportunity to go into rehab, but she turned it down.”

 

“That’s messed up. How’s Kyle doing?”

 

“He’s okay. He’s kind of come to terms with the way things have to be.”

 

“You’re a good friend, Henry.”

 

“Yeah, well, he’s helped me get through some tough times.” He spotted Kyle in the outer office and said, “Kyle was okay with me telling you what happened, but …”

 

“I still won’t mention anything,” Zayn quickly assured him.

 

Zayn bent down to check his bottom drawer for the candy, and when he looked up, he saw Liam standing next to Henry’s desk talking to him. Kyle was there too, standing beside his friend.

 

Liam evidently hadn’t gone home to change clothes after the action at Kyle’s house. He walked into his office, asked him if anything was going on, and then told him he’d dismissed the policeman and was taking over the bodyguard duty.

 

“Everything okay?” Zayn asked.

 

“Yes,” he said.

 

He looked comfortable in his jeans and T-shirt, but the gun and holster were very noticeable. He caught him staring at it, in his defence it was kind of hard not to stare.

 

“It’s part of the job, Zayn.” Liam said.

 

“I know.”

 

“Good, because you need to be okay with it.”

 

_Why was he getting all worked up? And why shouldn’t he be okay with it. He knew violence came with the job of protecting and serving. He wasn’t that naïve._

 

“What’s the matter with you?” he asked.

 

Liam glanced into the outer office, saw Kyle, and shook his head. “Nothing’s the matter. Some people just don’t get the breaks they should. It was a bad way to start a morning, that’s all.”

 

“But it turned out all right?”

 

He shrugged, and that was the end of the conversation.

 

Liam could close up quicker than a clam. If he hadn’t been so aggravating, Zayn would have been impressed.

 

By mid-afternoon they had fallen back into their routine. Liam took a nap on his sofa while he cleaned out files.

 

That evening they went back to his suite, ordered pizza, popcorn, pop, and beer, and watched a movie. It was an old classic, a love story that made him tear up and made him laugh. Zayn accused him of not having a sentimental bone in his body, and he took that as a compliment.

 

The next night he chose the movie, and they watched another old classic. It wasn’t a love story, though, it was a rip-them-up, shoot-them-up, skin-them-alive movie with lots of special effects and aliens. Liam loved it. Zayn not so much. He didn’t like the noise and blood that came with these type of movies, thank you very much.

 

Both of them had their feet propped up on the ottoman. Zayn was barefoot; Liam was wearing socks. One had a big hole in it.

 

The credits were rolling when he asked, “Want to watch it again?”

 

Zayn didn’t think he was kidding, he just gave him a sideways glance. “No, thank you. It was too violent for me.”

 

“You thought it was violent?” He acted surprised by his reaction.

 

“Liam, I counted thirty-five dead bodies.”

 

“That’s not so bad,” he said with a straight face.

 

“Thirty-five in the first half hour. I stopped counting after that.”

 

“Hey, they were aliens, and humans were their food source. What did you expect?”

 

“A little less face eating would have been nice and don’t get me started on the plot and the cast, I mean I could act better than that. Next time, I’m choosing the movie. ”

 

“Yeah alright, but that wasn’t so scary. Man, I loved those kinds of movies when I was a kid.”

 

“You liked being scared?”

 

“Sure.”

 

“What about nightmares?”

 

“I had a Buzz Lightyear figurine in my room, and I figured if any monsters got in, the two of us could take them.” He grinned as he added, “I was kind of cocky back then.”

 

“Back then? I’ve got news for you, hotshot. You still are.”

 

He laughed. “Hotshot? I come from a big family, all my cousins were hotshots at one time or another.”

 

Zayn nudged his shoulder. “I’ll bet you gave your parents grey hair when you were a child. It’s lucky you grew up. But I guess I did some pretty foolish things too.”

 

“Is that a boast?”

 

When Zayn didn’t answer, he nudged his shoulder.

 

“I’m sure I was just as reckless as you were,” he finally said.

 

They then spent the next hour trying to one-up each other with the dumb stunts they’d pulled as children. Liam won hands down.

 

“How come all of your stories about your childhood involve power tools?” Zayn asked.

 

He laughed. “Not all, just some. How come you never mention your parents in any of your stories?”

 

“I know I told you my father died when I was little, and my mother was never at home. I remember saying good night to her over the phone.”

 

“Now, that’s just sad.”

 

Zayn laughed. “No it isn’t. It’s just the way things were.”

 

“That’s no way for a child to grow up. How come you turned out so normal?”

 

“Who says I’m normal?”

 

“I do. I’ll bet that I know just about everything there is to know about you.” He was teasing him and being very arrogant. “I know what you like and what you don’t like.”

 

“I doubt that,” Zayn rolled his eyes.

 

“You hate salmon; you’re allergic to strawberries, your favourite meal is honey mustard chicken, and you hate vanilla cakes.”

 

Zayn retaliated. “You’re a ketchup freak. You put it on everything, even peanut butter sandwiches. You hate thin-crust pizza, and you aren’t allergic to anything.”

 

“My turn again? Okay. You’re very competitive; you’re a full-blown liberal trapped in a family of conservatives, and honestly, I don’t know how that happened; you think you’re good at hiding your emotions, but you’re not, and you don’t trust men and you’re very cynical towards marriage.”

 

He had touched a nerve, and Zayn sounded a bit defensive when he responded. “You’re far more competitive than I am; you think you’re a liberal, but you’re really very conservative; you are very stubborn that you don’t even agree to disagree and you have strong, unbendable values, and, Liam, I do trust some men.”

 

“And marriage?”

 

“My mother was married twice, and both of her husbands were unfaithful. I don’t want to make the same mistakes, and I’ve learned there’s no such thing as now and forever.”

 

“Unless you marry the right person.”

 

“That’s the trick, isn’t it? Knowing who’s right and who’s wrong. I think it’s all a guessing game.”

 

“No, it isn’t,” he argued. “And it’s not a science either.”

 

“Oh? Then how will you know who’s right for you?”

 

“Are you asking me to describe my perfect…err… partner?”

 

“There’s no such thing as a perfect partner.”

 

“Sure there is,” he said.

 

“Oh? What do they look like then?”

 

Their arms were touching, and neither one of them moved away. “He has dark hair.”

 

“It’s a he?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Aha”

 

“And hazel eyes. The colour of amber. Incredible honey-hazel eyes.”

 

He was leaning down toward him now, and Zayn thought he might kiss him. He hoped he would.

 

“He’s got a great body.”

 

“Of course he does.”

 

“Are you mocking my fantasy husband?”

 

“Nope,” he said, smiling. “Go on. What else? Does he have magic powers?”

 

He leaned a little closer. “It’s gonna be magic when we’re together.”

 

Oh, God, he was going to kiss him. Zayn held his breath.

 

“And long legs,” he said, his voice whisper-soft now.

 

His knuckles gently trailed down the side of his face. Zayn had to force himself to stay still and not lean into the caress. Why wouldn’t he kiss him? What was taking him so long?

 

“Does this perfect guy have a brain, or is not having a brain what makes him perfect.”

 

“Of course he has a brain. He’s highly intelligent, has a quick wit, and he makes me laugh. He’s got this wonderful combination of vulnerability and stubbornness. And that, Zayn, is my perfect dream partner.”

 

His mouth was just inches from his. He closed his eyes and waited.

 

He tweaked his nose. “Got to go.”

 

Zayn blinked. “You … what?”

 

“Got to go.”

 

He had his tennis shoes on, his laces tied, and was halfway to the door before he had his wits about him. He had to pull himself together.

 

He stood, grabbed the bowl of popcorn he’d forgotten was in his lap, and put it on the coffee table.

 

“You have fun teasing me, don’t you?”

 

He was tucking his T-shirt into his jeans. “You make it easy.” He opened the door and stepped out into the hall. “Come here, Zayn.”

 

The way he was looking at him made his stomach flutter. He walked over to the door. “Yes?”

 

“Let me hear you flip the dead bolt.”

 

“Oh. Yes, okay.” Zayn said, cheeks turning into hot pink.

 

He pulled the door closed. “Night.”

 

He could have sworn he heard him laughing as he walked away.

 

The night after, Zayn chose Tim Burton’s batman movies, which luckily they both highly enjoyed. They both pretended last night didn’t happen but Zayn surely felt one can cut the sexual tension between them with a knife.

They spent an hour after the last movie has finished discussing their favourite comic books as kids and their favourite superheroes.

“Man I’d never thought you’re into comic books!” Liam commented after a heated argument of who would win in a fight between Ironman and Batman.

“Really Liam, I thought you’re one of the best detectives out there.” Zayn taunted as he waved his hand next to his coffee table. It was a dark cherry wood minimalist box with a glass panel for a surface, inside the box a rare collection of first edition comic books was displayed.

“Well I thought that was for decoration purpose only.”

“Hell yeah it is, but I wouldn’t even have these if I haven’t actually read them I’m not that pretentious. And for your info, I happen to be the one who designed this piece of furniture.”

Liam beamed and all Zayn can do is look at him fondly.

“I’m not surprised since you graduated from an art school.” Liam commented before he took the last sip of his beer.

Zayn thought about this after Liam left. He did not remember mentioning to Liam that he actually graduated from an art school.

 _He was one of the best detectives out there!_ He guessed, smiling to himself like an idiot.


	22. Chapter Twenty-One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Zayn in white tux" ... somebody has to make sure Liam's still functioning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys...XD do you like Ziam in this or what?  
> sry for any mistakes

Zayn woke up on Saturday and felt like he did not want to leave the comfort of his bed. EVER. He was having an introvert day where he felt he did not want to talk to anyone or deal with people in general. He did not have these days often, but when he did he usually spent time in the office and let Henry take his calls or meetings.

After five minutes contemplating his options in bed, he decided it was time to move. He wore a black sweater and black joggers, let his black hair cover his forehead, nearly blocking his sight and was out of the door.

 

Detective Wincott had insisted that Liam take the day off, and when Zayn left his suite to go downstairs to his office to tear through more files, he was accompanied by one of the new security guards Harry had hired, an ex-policeman named Justin Shepard. Wincott approved because Justin used to be a cop and knew the job. Zayn spotted Detective Wincott sprawled in a chair that faced the elevators. He stood and adjusted his tie as they walked closer. From his ragged appearance, Zayn assumed his baby girl had kept him up yet another night.

 

“It’s Saturday,” he said. “You should be home with your family.”

 

“I just put the family on a plane to go see my wife’s mother, but if she were home, she’d have me fixing things, and I’m no good at that kind of stuff.”

 

He stepped back as the elevator doors silently opened. “I’m filling in for an hour,” he explained. “The officer who was supposed to hang with you today couldn’t do it. His wife went into labour. I’ve got another man coming in.”

 

Zayn was dressed in jogging clothes, and Wincott frowned as he gave him the once-over.

 

“I thought we had an understanding,” he said. “We’re letting you go to that country club for the hospital thing, but running outside … that just can’t happen.”

 

The poor detective looked as if he was bracing himself for an argument. Zayn realized that if he insisted on running outside, the detective would have to run with him. From the shape he was in and the loafers he wore, he guessed he would have lasted about ten minutes’ tops.

 

“I don’t plan to go outside at all today. We have a gym upstairs with a brand-new track, so when I do work out, I go up there.”

 

He looked relieved. “Where are we headed now?”

 

“My office.”

 

“Do you work every weekend?”

 

“I really don’t have much to do, but since I’m stuck in the hotel, I’m reorganizing the office. This is our slow period. The charity projects and the work on the grants start all over in August.”

 

“Bet that’s a lot of hard work.”

 

“Not really. Henry could do the grants blindfolded. As soon as he graduates from UL, he’ll be taking over my job and working on his MBA. He’ll hire someone to help, of course.”

 

“And what will you do?”

 

Zayn smiled. “I’m going global. I want to set up our programs at all the hotels.”

 

They reached the first floor and crossed the lobby to another bank of elevators. There was a security guard stationed in the alcove. Zayn nodded to him as he walked past. He stepped into the elevator, inserted his key and pushed the button for the third floor.

 

“Do you think all of these extra guards are necessary, Detective Wincott?”

 

“Hey, if you’re calling Payne, Liam, you can call me John, and I’ve got mixed feelings about the guards. If they don’t get in our way, I guess they’re okay.”

 

The hallway was quiet, the doors to the other offices locked. Zayn led the way into his office. Like Liam, Wincott immediately went to the sofa and made himself comfortable.

 

He grabbed another stack of files, dropped them on his desk, and sat down. Wincott had spotted the remote on a tray on the table and picked it up. He watched him look around.

 

“Hey, Zayn …”

 

“Top button,” he said as he opened the first folder.

 

He didn’t understand his instructions. “Push the top button on the remote.”

 

The second the panels began to move, Wincott whistled. “Holy heaven. Did Liam know about this?”

 

Zayn laughed at that. “Yes.”

 

“No wonder he didn’t want to share this detail. With this television and …”

 

“And what?”

 

Wincott shook his head. And “you,” he was going to say. “The sofa. It’s nice and soft. And this TV. It’s bigger than my house.”

 

“My brother Niall had it installed a couple of months ago. He can’t be in a room without a television blaring.”

 

“I bet I’d like your brother.”

 

“I’m sure you would. Niall’s the easy-going one,” he explained.

 

“And he hangs out here when he’s in town?”

 

Zayn nodded. “Pretty much.”

 

“Will the noise bother you while you’re working?”

 

“Not at all, in fact I can’t work without noise in the background.”

 

His computer screen was on and he immediately noticed a little square light blinking in the corner. Had he forgotten to turn it off? Or had someone else turned it on this morning?

 

He drummed his fingers on the mouse pad while he thought about it. Melissa, the computer tech from the police department, had told Liam that he had removed Zayn from the loop.

 

Melissa had given Zayn her card. He found it in his desk drawer and called the station. He didn’t expect Melissa to be at her desk, but he wanted to leave a message asking her to call him Monday.

 

The woman answered on the second ring.

 

Zayn told her who he was and said, “I didn’t think you would be working on a Saturday.”

 

“Then why did you call?”

 

Melissa’s antagonistic tone didn’t deter Zayn. “I thought I would leave you a message, and you’d call me back on Monday. Since I have you on the phone, I wonder if you have a minute to answer a couple of questions for me. I could call back if it isn’t convenient now.”

 

“What kind of questions?”

 

“Computer questions.”

 

“Yes, sure,” she said. She sounded almost perky now. “I know everything there is to know about computers.”

 

“That’s what I understand,” Zayn said. “Detective Payne told me that you had discovered my e-mails were going to other terminals in the hotel.”

 

“That’s right,” she said. “They went to your assistant’s terminal and to one in your brother’s office. Did you want me to pinpoint the exact location?”

 

“No, that isn’t necessary. I’m almost positive my e-mails were going to my elder brother’s assistant.”

“Okay, so what do you want?”

 

“This morning, when I came into my office, I noticed my computer was on.”

 

“And you think maybe he or she hooked up again?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“It’s easy to find out. I mean, easy for me to find out,” she qualified. “Are you sitting at your keyboard now?”

 

“Yes, I am.”

 

“Then let’s get started,” she said impatiently.

 

For the next five minutes Melissa barked one order after another. Zayn had to ask her to slow down a couple of times, but eventually he found the link that indicated someone else had locked onto his private and his business e-mails.

 

A couple of commands later, Zayn knew exactly where his e-mails were going, and the link was broken. “Snoop’s gone,” Melissa said. “Now I’m going to talk you through this, and we’re going to make it impossible for anyone else to get in there.”

 

Melissa once again rattled off one command after another. Zayn came up with a new password and typed it in.

 

“Okay, we’re done. If you do forget the password, just get hold of me and I’ll tell you what it is. You tell Henry what it is and to memorize it too.”

 

Zayn thanked her for her help and said, “If you ever want to change jobs, please let me know. We could certainly use you at the Styles Hotels.”

 

“Honest? Or are you just saying that to be nice?”

 

“Yes, I do mean it.”

 

“Would I get to travel to the other hotels, like the one in Paris and the one going up in Dublin?”

 

“Yes, you would.”

 

“Are there good benefits?”

 

“Oh, yes.”

 

“We’ll see,” she said, and then abruptly hung up the phone.

 

Melissa’s rude dismissal was both startling and somewhat humorous. Zayn wasn’t sure what “We’ll see” meant, but he hoped the tech would seriously consider a move. She would be an asset. Zayn was sure of that, and he also liked her. There didn’t seem to be an artificial bone in her body, and it was refreshing to talk to someone who didn’t have a hidden agenda.

 

While Zayn had been working on his computer, his back was to the door, but when he swung around in his chair, Liam was standing there, not five feet away from his desk. He hadn’t made a sound when he’d entered the office, and he didn’t have any idea how long he’d been watching him.

 

Zayn felt a surge of joy and hoped to God his reaction didn’t show all over his face.

 

Liam looked as if he was about to change the oil in his car or maybe make his third trip to the hardware store. His faded grey sweatshirt had seen better days.

 

 _However, Liam looked amazing … and just about perfect._ _Surely Zayn could find something wrong with him. Okay, he thought, he looked like a slob, and that wasn’t good, was it? Focus on the flaws, he told himself. Had Liam bothered to comb his hair? He didn’t think so. There you go, he thought. Another flaw to think about. God, who was he kidding? The slob was sexy and gorgeous and Daddy material…wait what?_

 

“What are you doing here?” Wincott called out.

 

Liam kept his gaze locked on Zayn as he answered, “Just checking. I thought you were asleep when I walked in here.”

 

“Hey, I’m on duty. I heard you and I saw you.”

 

“Yeah, right.”

 

“I did. What did you mean when you said you were just checking? Checking what?”

 

Zayn was the first to break eye contact. He leaned back in his chair and glanced over at Wincott, who admittedly did look half asleep. He had that glazed, I’m-watching-the-Sports-Channel look about him.

 

“Why are you here, Liam?” Zayn asked.

 

“I was in the neighbourhood.”

 

Zayn nearly snorted out loud. _Wasn’t that the lamest excuse people usually use to see someone? Hmmm…_

 

“You live in the neighbourhood, Payne,” Wincott commented without turning away from the TV.

 

“Yeah, well, I just wondered if anything was happening.”

 

Zayn shook his head. “I’ve just been finishing up some things.”

 

“I thought you were going to pack today,” Wincott said. He hit the mute button on the remote and stood. “I don’t know why you think this is punishment. I feel like I’ve died and gone to heaven. Just being able to order room service and watching television without kids climbing all over me … yeah, this is heaven.”

 

“Being with me is punishment?” Zayn asked. He didn’t sound wounded, just curious.

 

Liam shook his head. “Lewis gave me the assignment as punishment. He thought I’d hate it.”

 

“And do you?”

 

He grinned. “What do you think?”

 

Zayn only had the time to smile back because Liam didn’t wait for him to come up with a clever reply but turned to Wincott and said, “You want to explain why the head of the investigation is doing bodyguard duty?”

 

“I’m filling in until a replacement gets here.”

 

“Who’s on for tonight?”

 

“Lyle’s going to escort him to that formal thing he has to attend. He’s probably out renting a tux now.”

 

Liam shook his head. “Get him on the phone and tell him he’s off the hook. I’ll take him.”

 

“Off the hook?” Zayn repeated. He didn’t know if he should be insulted or amused.

 

Liam ignored him and continued to frown at Wincott because he hadn’t pulled out his cell phone and dialled Bradshaw yet. “Call him,” he insisted.

 

“How come?”

 

“What do you mean, ‘how come’? I just told you how come. I’m going to take him.”

 

“And I’m still asking how come you’re going to take him.”

 

Liam was glaring now. He knew Wincott was deliberately baiting him, and from the stupid grin on his face, he was having a fine time doing it too. Liam had the sudden urge to punch him.

 

“Because I said I would take him, that’s how come, and I’ve got a tux hanging in my closet.”

 

“But Lyle’s looking forward to tonight.”

 

“I’ll just bet he is,” he snapped. “We both know Bradshaw’s a …” He suddenly stopped.

 

“A what?” Wincott stretched as Liam crossed the room.

 

“Listen up,” Liam said, his voice low so Zayn wouldn’t overhear. “Stop messing with me. Got that?”

 

“Last I checked, I was still in charge of this investigation, Liam.”

 

“That’s right, you are, John,” he replied, stressing the detective’s first name. “So go somewhere and investigate. I’m in charge of his protection, and you know what that means?”

 

Wincott grinned. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. You’re going to protect him.”

 

“Make the call.”

 

Liam turned to Zayn and knew from his puzzled expression that he had heard every word of the exchange and most likely didn’t understand. Zayn probably thought he was out of his mind, and maybe he was. At the moment he didn’t care. He wasn’t going to let anyone get near him, especially Lyle Screw-Anything-That-Walks-By Bradshaw.

 

“What time do you want to leave?” he asked Zayn. He sounded brusque.

 

“I’d like to be there a little early.” Zayn was really having trouble wrapping his mind about Liam’s behaviour; one minute he’s showing signs of him liking him, another he curtly claims that Zayn’s protection is his duty?

 

“Okay. What time do you want me at your door?”

 

“Seven-thirty.”

 

Wincott walked with Liam into the front office.

 

“Have you got any leads yet?” Liam asked.

 

“We’ve checked out almost everyone connected with Zayn, and we looked hard at Shields and his sidekicks. I didn’t see anything there. The three of them are in protective custody, and I’m told that Shields is scared sick.”

 

“No one else looks good?”

 

“Not yet. We’re checking out Peter Morris. You know, the guy Zayn turned down for a grant. We don’t have much on him yet.”

 

“What about former employees? Maybe someone who got fired is trying to get even.”

 

“Liam, I know how frustrated you must be because you can’t work on this case, and I’ll call you the second I do have something.”

 

“Are you looking at the employees?”

 

“Yes. His brother Harry is getting a list together.”

 

The two detectives continued to talk for another ten minutes. Zayn was on the phone, but he’d been placed on hold, and while he waited, he tried to overhear what the two detectives were saying. Liam caught him watching. He didn’t smile or frown, but he did wink before he turned and walked out of the office, and despite all his attempts to remain unaffected, every one of his senses reacted.

 

_God, if just a wink can make him feel faint…What if he kissed him? Pull yourself together boy._

 

He would never ever admit any of this foolishness to his friends. Gigi would start nagging him to make a move on the hot detective, and that was something Zayn wasn’t prepared to do.

 

Louis would probably tell him that Liam was safe because he was untouchable, which made him great for a fantasy man. He was someone who had a job to do and would do it well, but when he was finished, he would walk away without a backward glance.

 

But still, Zayn was relieved to find voice mails from each of his friends saying they’d returned to London in time for the dinner dance. Gigi’s message said that she was bringing a date and that she had loads to tell Zayn about their investigation.

 

Louis had left two messages. The first was to inform Zayn that he was going to the country club alone—he’d probably get a cab and catch a ride home with Gigi—and that he would wait for Zayn in the reception area just outside the ballroom door. The second message was all about clothes. He described in great detail the sapphire blue suit he was wearing and ended his call with the suggestion that Zayn stop being such a wimp and wear the Disney

Prince White tux.

 

In the matter of the suit, Zayn had no one to blame but himself, he supposed. He never should have let Louis and Gigi talk him into buying the suit Louis was referring to in the first place because they weren’t going to let up until he wore the thing. He had to admit, though, it really was a stunning tux, and the silky fabric was a pure white colour that even Zayn knew looked beautiful against his skin.

 

It was a simple tux, really but the fabric and its colour made the difference, the suit jacket was an elegant white with silky sheen on each lapel, and the suit pants were tight black trousers that complimented his figure. The whole thing made him look like prince charming straight out of a Disney movie, Louis’ comment when he agreed on trying out the tux in the shop.

 

Zayn decided to make up his mind about what he would wear when it was time to get ready. Until then, he had other more important things to do. He turned his computer off. Wincott had been replaced by a uniformed policeman who followed as he headed upstairs to the gym. It took him an hour and a half to get through the regimen of exercises the physical therapist had given him to strengthen the muscles around his ankle, and then, because he still had nervous energy to burn, he put on his protective brace and walked the track. He was usually able to block out all his worries and concentrate only on the sound of his breathing and the pounding of his feet against the cushioned floor, but that wasn’t working today.

 

For the last couple of weeks, his life had been turned upside down. It seemed that everywhere he looked, he saw security guards, and of course Liam or a policeman was always with him. Everyone was waiting for something to happen. Wincott was as convinced as Liam that the crazy—Liam’s name for the suspect—would try to contact him again, but thus far, that hadn’t happened.

 

Zayn was pretty certain he had fooled everyone, even Henry, into believing he was taking it all in stride, but inside he was a nervous wreck. The only time he felt safe was when he was with Liam.

 

The wait was taking its toll. His appetite was gone; he couldn’t sleep, and lately he was having trouble concentrating. he couldn’t stop worrying that the killer had already taken off for parts unknown—or what if he had simply gone to ground, waiting for them to drop their guard? How long would the detectives continue to shadow him before Lewis decided he was wasting valuable manpower? What would happen then?

 

He had to stop this line of thought before he had a panic attack then and there, he should not get anyone worried about his stupid panic attacks when there’s a bigger problem at hand.

 

Maybe Liam would have some answers, and if there was a quiet moment tonight, he would ask him what the next step was.

 

Wincott stopped by again that evening. He had returned to pick up a couple of employment files from Harry and decided to sit with Zayn until Liam got there. Wincott’s family was out of town, and he didn’t want to go home to an empty house, so he relieved the policeman on duty.

 

He was lounging on the sofa in his parlour while he took a long hot shower. At Zayn’s insistence, he’d ordered dinner and was now watching a football game while he ate. Zayn had grown accustomed to having someone sitting in his mini living room. He hadn’t bothered to lock the French doors separating the bedroom from the parlour. There were sheers covering the glass, and he could probably see only his outline, but he still kept his towel around his waist on until he was inside the walk-in closet.

 

He took the “Prince” tux off the hanger and held it up. It really was lovely. The white complimented his skin. The pants fit nicely and the while outfit just made him look fantastic. He knew he looked somewhat attractive most of the times, but at that moment he had to admit he felt sexy too.

 

He reluctantly removed the suit, put it back on the hanger, and sorted through his closet several times before settling on what Louis called his old man’s ugly suit. The thing wasn’t bad, but it did not fit him in the right places, it was a little bit loose on his figure and it was grey, which did not really compliment his skin but rather made him look ill. Even Zayn, who usually didn’t focus very hard on his appearance, was so appalled when he looked at himself in the full-length mirror, he actually took a step back. Yikes!

 

His brothers would definitely approve of this one. They always said he should not wear outfits that would draw unwanted attention to himself since he did not really like the sort of attention that came for what he was wearing. “It’s fine,” he said out loud, trying to convince himself that the safe grey suit was better than the I-want-to-score-tonight tux, which made him feel so sensual and sexy.

 

“Yes, this is fine,” he repeated. Then he sighed. “If I were eighty.”

 

Sick and tired of acting like a prude, he put on the “Prince” tux again.

_Maybe tonight is fit to get the right kind of attention._

He thought of that and instantly his mind raced to his date tonight. He swallowed audibly, his heart racing.

_Nope, don’t go there!_

 

His only jewellery was a dot diamond nose ring, a golden stud for his industrial piercing and tiny golden points and loops for earrings.

 

He let his shiny raven black locks drop on the side of his forehead and as he finished with his look, he took a deep breath, and then opened the doors and walked into the parlour. Wincott had picked up some chips and had it halfway to his mouth when he saw him. He froze, the forgotten chip dangling in the air from the tips of his fingers.

 

He gaped at him. Zayn waited for him to say something, and when he didn’t, he asked, “Do you think this suit is okay? It’s not too much, isn’t it?”

 

_Oh God, he was not talking!_

 

“I’ll go change.”

 

“No, no, it’s okay. Honest. You just took me by surprise, I mean if it makes you feel better, I don’t find…erm… guys attractive you know, no offence, but you look stunning, I mean you look se…” He realized what he was about to say and stopped in time.

 

“Yes?” he asked, looking down.

 

“Smart,” he said, nodding. “Yeah, you clean up nicely…I don’t mean you were dirty before I just mean, did you take a shower?” He cleared his throat, dropped the chips on his plate, and stammered, “I mean to say your suit is pretty.”

 

“Thank you.” Zayn beamed, he almost laughed at the detective’s rambling but he thought it was rude so he contained himself.

 

Wincott wanted to say, _Wait until Liam gets a look at you, but he didn’t. Zayn was already feeling self-conscious, and for the life of him, he couldn’t understand why. The guy was a knockout. How could he not know it?_

 

The knock on the door pulled him from his thoughts. Zayn went into the bedroom to collect his phone and wallet while Wincott let Liam in.

 

He could hear the two men talking as he turned the lights off and walked back into the parlour. Wincott was watching Liam as he spotted Zayn in the doorway. Liam gave him a quick glance and said, “You’ll need a raincoat.”

 

“Yes. All right.”

 

Zayn disappeared into the bedroom again. Wincott stood in front of the couch staring at Liam, willing him to say something. Wincott couldn’t stop grinning. Liam was good pulling on the poker face. He hadn’t shown any outward reaction to the vision standing before him. He hadn’t even blinked. Come to think of it, he hadn’t taken a breath either.

 

He kept staring into the bedroom, though, even when he said to Wincott, “What are you looking at?”

 

“You.”

 

“And?”

 

“And I’m wondering how come you’re not drooling. Must have a lot of discipline,” he said.

 

Liam looked at him. “We’re here to do a job, and that’s all.”

 

“You’re saying you’re not going to try to get him to—”

 

Liam cut him off. He knew where he was going. “Not another fucking word, or I swear I’ll shoot you.”

 

“Hey, I wasn’t going to say anything offensive. Well, maybe I was gonna say something like, ‘You kids have a nice time tonight, but you keep your hands to yourself you know, I might have said something like that.”

 

_Fuck, and now all what he was thinking about was ripping that nice and probably-worth-twice-his-salary suit of off Zayn’s body and covering him with his own._

_It’s gonna be one hell of a night!_


	23. Twenty-Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys thank you for all the lovely comments and the kudos.  
> Here's a long chapter. Enjoy!

Liam was wearing a black raincoat over his tux and looked devastatingly handsome. In other circumstances Zayn would have definitely made a move on him, but that was not the time to think about that, was it? Liam opened the door for him, stepped back, and said to Wincott, “Replacement’s here.”

Wincott’s phone was ringing. “I’ll go over a couple of things with him. You two go on.”

The door closed as he was answering the phone.

They didn’t speak until they were in the car and on their way north. Zayn gave Liam directions to the country club—he’d written them down on a three-by-five index card—but he already knew where it was located.

“Are you always so organized?” he asked.

“Not normally, but I try to be,” Zayn said. He pulled out a handful of cards, shuffled through them, and put them back in his raincoat’s pocket.

“What are all those?”

“Notes for tonight,” he answered.

“Do you have to give a speech?” Liam asked.

“Just a couple of words.”

Zayn didn’t expound, and Liam figured he’d find out what it was all about when he got there. He was having a difficult time paying attention to the road. Zayn’s cologne was playing havoc with his concentration, and all he wanted to think about was how sexy he had looked when he walked into the parlour.

_Yeah, right. Who was he kidding? He was trying to picture him naked, and that was what was playing havoc with his concentration._

They’d driven a couple of miles without speaking again, and the silence was awkward. Zayn wished he would say something, even if it was a mundane remark about the weather. He had a ferocious frown on his face.

_What the hell was he thinking about?_

“Is everything all right?” he asked.

“What? Oh, sure. Everything’s fine.”

“You were frowning.”

He glanced over at him. “I was?”

“What were you thinking about?”

_You. Naked. Moaning under me._

Stalling while he tried to come up with a suitable lie, he said. “Just now?”

He eased the car down the ramp onto the interstate and swung in behind a pickup. Traffic was unusually heavy, even for Saturday night, but he still didn’t have any trouble keeping track of the rover following them.

“We’ve got company.”

“We do?”

“The grey rover two cars back. They’ve been following us since we left the hotel, and they don’t seem to care if we notice them or not. I’m not worried, just irritated.”

Zayn tried to see the rover from his side-view mirror, and when that didn’t work, he twisted in his seat to look out the back window. The seat belt cut into his neck.

“I don’t see a rover.”

He pulled over into the middle lane and accelerated, and as soon as he did that, the rover followed.

His eyes grew huge. “I see them. There are two men.” Turning to Liam, he said, “Why aren’t we worried?”

“They’re security guards.”

“So now I’ve got security guards following me around the city? Even when I’m with you? Who do you suppose gave that order?”

“Your brother.”

Zayn settled back in the seat, adjusted his raincoat, and stared out the window. He didn’t say another word for several minutes. Liam glanced over at him and saw the worry etched on his face. He did not like that.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked.

“I was just wondering why we haven’t heard from him,” he said. “Why hasn’t he tried to contact me? It’s been two weeks, Liam. Do you still think he will?”

He could hear his anxiety. “Yes, I do.”

“But what happens if he waits?”

“Then we wait.”

“How much time will the Inspector let Detective Wincott and you and the others spend time on this? You’re all overworked, and I know there aren’t enough of you to go around. If nothing happens, and you leave London, and he goes into hiding …” he suddenly stopped, took a breath, and willed himself to calm down. Liam wasn’t clairvoyant. He couldn’t possibly have all the answers.

“Listen, Zayn. Wincott and Bradshaw haven’t been twiddling their thumbs. They’re working on this, okay?”

“Yes, okay,” he said, feeling guilty now because he knew the detectives had been putting in long hours. “I’m sorry. It’s just that, the more I know…”

“The less afraid you’ll be.”

“That too.”

“What were you going to say?’

“The more control I’ll have. Besides, I can’t come up with a plan to help catch him unless I know all the facts, now can I?”

“I don’t like the sound of that, and neither will Wincott. Don’t get in the middle of this.”

“But I am in the middle of it.”

“I’m talking about the investigation. Don’t muck it up with foolish plans …”

“You sound like you think I’m going to do something crazy.”

Zayn had one hand on the dashboard, getting ready to brace himself should he swerve or increase his speed.

“Would you like to drive?”

The question jarred him. “No, I wouldn’t.”

“I’m only going sixty.”

“Did I criticize your driving?”

He reached across the console and pulled his hand away from the dash. “Try to relax,” he said. “And no more talk about the investigation tonight. Okay?”

“Yes,” Zayn agreed. He leaned back and folded his hands. “About those security guards following us …”

“Yes?”

“I don’t want them to follow us inside the club, and I’d rather no one knew that you were my bodyguard. The focus shouldn’t be on me tonight, and I don’t want a lot of questions.”

The only way the focus wouldn’t be on him was if he kept his coat on all evening and no one got a look at what he was wearing. Scratch that, even if he spent the night with his coat on, he still looked more attractive than most, and he’ll definitely still turn heads.

“I’ll talk to the guards and make sure they keep a low profile.”

“Thank you.”

The clouds suddenly erupted, and within seconds, fat raindrops splattered the windshield. Liam turned on the wipers and said, “I think we’re going to set a record for the most consecutive rain days.”

“That’s our exit.”

“I know.”

“Does Wincott know where Shields is hiding?”

“You’ll have to ask him that question.”

“Harry wants me to hide too. I’m not going to, though. I’m not running away. I want to help catch him.”

“Harry’s trying to look out for you,” he said. “I’ve got two sisters, and I’d probably react the same way.”

“He’s bringing in reinforcements.”

“Oh?”

“Niall’s on his way. He’s probably already at the hotel.”

“Wasn’t he coming to London for that meeting you told me about?”

“Yes.”

“But you think the two of them will try to gang up on you to get you to go into hiding?”

“Yes, but it won’t work. Like I said, I’m not going anywhere. And if anyone is hiding, it’s Harry.”

“Yeah?” He was trying not to smile. Zayn sounded so disgruntled now. “Who’s he hiding from?”

“Me.”

“He’s that scared of you, huh?” Liam teased.

“I wish.” Zayn retorted.

He did laugh then. “I gather that’s a no?”

“Harry isn’t afraid of anyone, least of all me. He isn’t really hiding from me,” he admitted. “He is driving me crazy, though. It seems that every time I turn around, there he is, and yet, he doesn’t have time to even schedule a meeting. He keeps hiring more guards too. I’m bumping into them.”

“He’s worried about you,” Liam reasoned, “and that’s why there are so many security guards around. Did you ever talk to him about having your car towed away?”

“Not yet, but I will.”

“What about Danny? Is he going to gang up on you too?”

“No. He’s pretty self-absorbed these days, and I’m glad of it. I can handle two, but three against one is more difficult.”

They’d taken the exit and were slowing to a stop at a red light. The country club was a little over two miles away.

“You’re tougher than you look.”

Zayn chuckled. “I hope that’s a compliment.”

“It is,” he said. “Families can be complicated. Trust me. I know.”

“From some of the stories you’ve told me, you were pretty wild.”

“I had my share of wild times.”

 _With women and men?_ He wanted to ask.

“How come you’re still single?” he said instead.

Liam shrugged. “I don’t have anything against relationships or marriage for that matter. I just haven’t had time for any kind of meaningful relationship.”

He turned the corner. The rain was coming down in torrents now. They followed a limo through the iron gates. There were gaslights outlining the half mile drive that curved through the palatial grounds to the clubhouse. Whoever had redesigned the club had wanted to impress, and he had certainly achieved that goal. The magnificence of the three-story structure at the top of the rise was close to being an embarrassment of excess. Soft lights shone down on massive white pillars.

The rain didn’t let up. Liam handed his car keys to the valet and followed him up the stairs. He was one step behind him, and it occurred to Zayn that he was making himself a target in order to protect him.

“Do you belong to this club?” he asked.

Zayn shook his head. “It’s not my kind of place.”

The comment surprised him. “Not my kind of place either. It’s too …”

“Pretentious?” he provided.

“Yes.” Liam admitted with a smile. He liked how Zayn was too down to earth even though he came from money.

Two men in red tailcoats opened the massive double doors as they approached. As Zayn and Liam were walking inside, he took his arm and said, “I don’t want you to go anywhere without me. Not even the restrooms.”

Zayn turned to him and asked with a raise eyebrow. “Are you going to go in there with me?”

“No, but I’m gonna make sure it’s empty.”

He took his coat, removed his own, and handed both to the coat check woman after Zayn retreated his notes from the pocket.

Liam’s frown had Zayn self-conscious about what he was wearing, _did Liam not like it? Come to think of it, he did not even give him any nice compliment like Wincott did. He almost said something and then changed his mind. He should not care whether Liam approved of his attire or not._

_Oh who was he kidding, he wanted Liam to compliment him! Was that too much to ask?_

Liam looked so dashing all dressed up in his all black tux. His black bow tie was crooked, though, and a lock of his hair had fallen down on his forehead. Without a thought as to what he was doing, Zayn stepped closer, adjusted his tie, and brushed his hair back in place.

Zayn made the mistake of looking into his eyes. They wrinkled at the corners, and he knew Liam wanted to laugh at him. He could have stared at him all night.

_Time to get hold of yourself, he thought._

Zayn stepped back. “I didn’t mean to … you know.”

“No, I don’t know. You didn’t mean to what?”

“To touch you,” he whispered.

The detective grinned. “I like you touching me.”

“I still shouldn’t have …”

Zayn was saved from having to continue the awkward conversation when he heard someone call his name. He briskly whipped around, lost his balance, and fell back against Liam. The latter grabbed him around the waist and held him until he stopped swaying.

He had to think he was a complete klutz. Fortunately, he didn’t have to dwell on that depressing thought long. Louis caught his attention. Zayn smiled as his friend came rushing forward. As usual, he looked hot. The sapphire blue suit accentuated the colour of his eyes and complimented his tanned skin and the pants showed off his perfect sexy back.

“Have you been waiting long?” Zayn asked. He might as well have added, “Yo loser, I’m down here.” Louis was staring at Liam and having trouble keeping his mouth closed. Zayn couldn’t fault him. Liam looked like a wet dream tonight.

“Stop staring,” he whispered.

“I’m not staring.” He said loudly and unashamedly with a mischievous smile.

Louis was starring though, and he didn’t seem inclined to stop. Zayn nudged him. “I asked you if you had been waiting long. For fuck’s sake, Lou, look at me.”

“What? Oh, no, I just got here.”

Zayn remembered his manners. He stepped to Liam’s side and introduced the two. Louis smiled as he shook his hand.

“You don’t look like a detective, at least not in that tux.” Louis glanced down at his waist and asked, “Are you carrying?”

“Carrying what?” Zayn asked.

“A gun,” he explained. “You know … packing.” He continued wiggling his eyebrows to Zayn, who rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop a faint blush.

Liam smiled. “You watch a lot of television, don’t you?”

“Sorry to say I do,” Louis said not sounding sorry at all. “At least I do when I’m not grading papers. I lead a very boring life.”

“No, you don’t,” Zayn said. “Lou’s a guy of many talents. Do you know, he totally rebuilt the engine in his car?”

Liam thought he was joking. Louis was extremely—very much like Zayn—and it was easier for him to picture him having a shopping spree and gossiping over tea than changing the points and plugs in a car. Then the name clicked inside his head. Louis Tomlinson as in Tomlinson Automotive. “Your family owns a couple of auto repair shops around town, don’t they?”

“More than a couple,” Zayn said. “They’re nationwide.”

Zayn suddenly remembered he hadn’t told Louis the latest about his brother. “Harry had my car towed away.”

“Noooo!” Louis dragged the o from the shock.

“Yes.”

“Get it back,” he said.

Zayn shook his head. “He had it taken to a junkyard. I’m sure it’s been stripped by now. Oh, and he bought me a BMW. Can you believe his gall?”

Liam would have laughed, but he knew Zayn was serious, and angry. So was his feisty friend.

“I can’t believe I wasted an entire weekend putting in a brand-new radiator and shocks …”

“And a new muffler,” Zayn said.

“That’s right, a new muffler. Where does he get off towing …?” Louis suddenly stopped ranting and took a deep breath. “It’s getting crowded in here. We should probably go into the banquet.”

Liam had been blocking Zayn from anyone entering through the double doors, but he, too, wanted to get him inside the dining room and hopefully settled at an out-of-the-way table.

The two security guards who had followed them from the hotel walked into the foyer. They stopped just inside the door. Both were wearing their uniforms and were already getting noticed by the other arriving guests. Liam touched Zayn’s arm to get his attention, leaned down close to his ear, and said, “Stay here with your back to the wall. I’ll be right back.”

The second he was out of earshot, Louis said, “Oh, wow.”

Zayn smiled. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Oh, wow. You didn’t tell me he was so …”

“So what?”

“So … everything. There’s this raw, sexual magnetism about him …”

“Really?”

“You haven’t noticed?” Louis asked with a raised eyebrow.

Zayn laughed. “Of course I have.”

Like Louis, he was watching Liam as he walked over to the guards and spoke to them. Whatever he was saying was making the men nervous. They both began to fidget. One was comically tugging on his collar.

“Why are those men here?”

“The guards? Harry hired them as extra security.”

“They’re not subtle, are they?”

“No, they aren’t. I hope Liam sends them home.” he turned to Louis and said, “I would appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone that Liam’s a detective. I don’t want to field questions, and the focus should be on the hospital fund-raiser tonight.”

“I won’t say a word.”

“Except Gi, of course. You can tell her.”

“Of course.”

The three of them never kept secrets from one another. “About the detective …” Louis began.

“Yes?”

“I’m thinking he’s interested in you.”

“Why would you think that? You’ve only spent two minutes with the man.”

“Body language,” he explained in a very matter-of-fact tone. “I know he’s interested because of the way he looks at you. You’re going to have to take my word on this, Zee. He’s attracted to you, but then, come to think of it, most men are.”

“They are not. Now, can we please change the subject?”

“Not yet. You’re gorgeous. You’ve got a face and body I would die to have, and I swear that if you weren’t my best friend, I’d have to hate you. Your brothers, especially Harry, have done a real number on you to keep you in line.”

“For Goodness sake,” Zayn said, exasperated. “No one’s done a number on me.”

Louis didn’t want to argue. “Will your brothers be here tonight?”

“Maybe,” he said.

“So tell me. Is he single, married, or divorced?”

“Who?” he asked, just to provoke his friend.

“Oh, please. You know who I’m talking about. The hunky detective.”

“He’s single, but he’s leaving London in another week.”

“For how long?”

“Forever,” Zayn said dejectedly.

Louis sighed. “You know what I’m thinking?”

Zayn smiled. “I never know what you’re thinking.”

“I’m thinking you should go after that man.”

Zayn took exception. “It wouldn’t be right for me to go after him. He’s on the job. He’s … trapped with me.”

The conversation ended when Louis shushed him, “Here he comes.”

Zayn noticed the guards, looking quite disgruntled, were leaving. “What did you say to them?” he asked.

“Not much.”

“In other words, you aren’t going to tell me?”

Liam smiled and completely ignored the question. “Shall we go inside the ballroom?”

“The doors aren’t open yet,” Louis said. “That hallway leads to the ballroom, where we’ll be dining. They’re serving champagne and hors d’oeuvres in the reception. I’m going to go look for Gigi. Want to come with me?”

Zayn didn’t answer him. He was watching a couple coming in the doorway. His frown was immediate, and he was suddenly feeling sick to his stomach.

“What’s wrong?” As Louis asked the question, he turned around to see who Zayn was watching. “Oh, I see.”

The couple disappeared into the cloakroom. Liam caught a glimpse of them. “Who are they?”

“No one important.” Zayn commented.

Liam looked at Louis to get an answer. He sighed and said, “The silver-haired man used to be married to Zayn’s mother, and the young woman having trouble keeping her dress on is his wife. They are, as Zayn said, not important.”

Liam touched Zayn’s shoulder. “I’d like to go into the ballroom. As Louis said, it’s getting crowded out here,” he added.

Louis took off down the hall to go to the reception, and by the time he reached the door, there were two men at his side.

Liam took Zayn’s hand. “I want to see where you will be sitting. Let’s go.”

Zayn didn’t argue. He didn’t particularly want to stand in a crowded room and sip champagne.

An employee stepped forward to block the doors and explained that they would have to wait until the room was officially opened, but the look Liam gave the man changed his mind, and he hastily stepped out of the way.

The ballroom was surprisingly large. To the left, the musicians were busy setting up their equipment on a wide square platform adjacent to the spacious dance floor. Straight ahead and to the right were round tables with white linen tablecloths. The cushioned chairs were covered with white linen slipcovers, and tied on the back of each chair was a blue satin bow with ribbon spilling to the floor. Long white tapered candles in sparkling silver candleholders were being lit by the waiters.

There were place settings for eight at each of the tables. Name cards, propped on silver cubes, sat directly behind each silver rimmed dinner plate. Zayn found their table near the front by the podium. One of the waitresses was fiddling with the microphone, making sure it worked, but he stopped what he was doing and smiled at him.

He walked around the table to find out who else was seated there, oblivious of the appreciative looks he was getting. Liam didn’t like the way the staff was looking at Zayn, but he knew he couldn’t do anything about it. He glared at one overzealous employee who started toward Zayn and was pleased when she did a hasty turnaround.

Zayn was shaking his head. “What’s the matter?” he asked.

“We’re not sitting here.” He decided.

“Okay,” Liam agreed. “So who is?”

Liam was standing beside him, keeping his eye on the doors.

“Harry and his guest, Niall and his guest, which means he’s back in town, the administrator of the hospital and his wife, and my former stepfather, Emerson, and his wife, Cindy. No, we aren’t going to sit here.”

Zayn was trying hard not to let Liam know how furious he was. He knew Harry was responsible for letting the sleazebag join in. He understood his motives. Emerson had already gone to several attorneys trying to find a way to break the prenup, and Harry was simply trying to keep him pacified. In Zayn’s opinion, his brother was only putting off the inevitable and being extremely disloyal to their mother’s memory in the process.

There were pink spots on his cheeks, and his ears turned red. He was angry, all right. “Okay,” Liam said calmly. “Where would you like to sit?”

“Anywhere but here.”

Liam picked up Zayn’s name card and his. He looked around, found a table near the back he liked because it was close to the wall, and walked toward it.

He traded names with a doctor and his wife. “This okay?”

“It’s perfect.” The frown eased from his brow.

He put his flash cards down on table and straightened just as the doors were officially opened. Gigi and her date were the first to walk inside. She waved to Zayn and hurried over. She looked amazing. Zayn watched Liam to judge his reaction to his friend. He’d taken the name cards of the doctor and his wife and placed them next to Harry and his guest, and was on his way back to their table when Gigi caught his attention.

He seemed curious but not overly so. Men had a tendency to lose their train of thought around Gigi, but Liam seemed to be in full command of his senses. Odd, Zayn thought.

Gigi was wearing a new black Chanel gown and had diamond clips in her hair. Zayn recognized his friend’s date. He was Jeffrey Oakley. His family owned Oakley Electronics, and Zayn knew that Jeff and Gigi were both members of the same country club. He was a sweet, laid-back man who always looked as though he was about to burst out of his clothes. Everything he wore was two sizes too small.

“Liam, I’d like you to meet my dear friend, Gigi Hadid,” he said.

While he was introducing Jeff, he noticed Gigi was smiling at Liam. She, too, was obviously mesmerized by the man.

“Are you the bodyguard, or rather the detective, assigned to Zayn? It’s okay,” she hastily added for Zayn’s benefit. “Louis explained everything to me, and I assure you that I can keep a secret.”

“Gigi’s going to be a reporter,” Zayn said.

“What secret?” Jeff asked.

Liam answered. “Zayn’s dating a cop. That’s the secret.”

“What cop?”

“Me,” Liam said. “He’s dating me.” He put his arm around his waist and pulled him in to his side.

Liam didn’t let go of him. Zayn wondered if he realized his arm was still around him. He liked it, though. He liked pretending that they were together too, and how pathetic was that?

“Would you like for us to join you?” Gigi asked, and before Zayn could answer, she turned to her date and said, “Will you go find our name cards, please?”

He immediately turned around to do what she asked. She grabbed his arm. “Wait a minute. Take all of these name cards and put them somewhere else. I’m sure there are empty seats, and if there aren’t, ask the waiter to set up another table. I don’t want to sit with strangers tonight. Oh, and, Jeff? Find Louis’s name too. He’ll want to sit with us.”

Zayn leaned toward Liam and said, “Gigi and I have been friends since kindergarten, so I’m used to the way she bosses everyone around.”

Gigi heard the comment and laughed. “Everyone but you and Louis. It is true, though. I do tend to be bossy, especially with Jeff. He’s my go-with guy.”

“Go with?” Liam asked.

“We’re just friends,” she explained. “But when I want or need a date for some function, Jeff goes with me, and I do the same for him. It’s a perfect arrangement when one or both of us is between relationships. Jeff was eager to come tonight, though, because of Zayn.”

“Why’s that?” Liam asked.

“He’s had a thing for him for years,” she explained. “Shouldn’t we sit down?” She motioned to a waiter, who immediately hurried over. “Would you please remove these three place settings? Thank you,” she said as he began to gather up the silverware and the wineglasses. Gigi leaned around him to see Zayn. “Louis can sit next to Liam on his right, and you can sit on his left.”

“She is bossy,” Liam said.

Zayn nodded. He was smiling.

“So Zee you haven’t said anything about my dress, do you like it?”

“Very much. Is it new?” Zayn’s tone was laced with suspicion.

“Sort of.”

“What does ’sort of mean?”

“I picked it up at the Chanel boutique a couple of weeks ago, but this is the first time I’ve worn it.”

“How did you pay for it? With your salary—”

Gigi stood. “I had a relapse. Okay?”

“Oh, Gigi …”

“I’m going to help Jeff find Louis’s name card. He’s wandering around in circles. When I get back, don’t lecture me. I already feel guilty.”

Liam stood when Gigi did, but as soon as she walked away, he sat down again and put his arm on the back of Zayn’s chair. The latter didn’t move away, and neither did he.

“What kind of relapse was she talking about?” he asked.

“Gigi asked Louis and me to help her stop taking money from her father.”

“What’s the big deal? If he wants to give her money and she needs it …”

Zayn turned to look at him. “But she doesn’t really need it. And she wants to be completely independent.” he sighed. “Gigi loves her father very much, and she’s extremely loyal to him.”

“In other words, she’s a typical daughter.”

He smiled. Nothing about Gigi or her father was typical. “Yes,” he said. “Recently she decided that it was up to her to try to rehabilitate him, and if that didn’t work, then she’s determined to get him to retire.”

Liam literally jerked back. “Ah, hell. Hadid, is it? Man, I didn’t put it together. I should have, but I didn’t. She’s Murad Hadid’s daughter, isn’t she?”

“Yes, she is.”

Liam was stunned. The Interpol had been trailing Murad Hadid for years, trying to get enough evidence to indict him. Murad was considered by many to be the ultimate con artist, but because he only fleeced those men and women he considered to be bigger crooks than he was, the public had taken a real shine to him. High-stakes gamblers who had robbed their own companies and who had cleaned out their employee’s pensions and then hung them and their families out to dry were Murad’s meat and potatoes. Murad Hadid loved targeting the greedy bastards, and that was all the more reason the public loved him. Unfortunately, the sad truth was that Murad was never going to run out of marks.

Not only did the public adore him, other crooks looked up to Murad as an idol. He was everything they hoped to become. Hadid lived somewhere in Monaco, and in all the articles about him, there was never any mention of a family.

“Niall told me that a lot of people think of Murad Hadid as a modern-day Robin Hood. He only steals from the rich—”

Liam interrupted him. “Yeah, well, he doesn’t give the money to the poor, now does he? He keeps it.”

Zayn stiffened. “He does a lot of charitable work.”

Liam gave him a look that suggested he thought he was nuts. “He’s a criminal, Zayn, and he should be behind bars.”

“It’s obvious you’ve made up your mind about him, and nothing I say will change your opinion, will it?” he sounded disgruntled.

“He’s a criminal,” he patiently repeated.

“If you’re going to be judgmental …”

He was incredulous. “Have you forgotten what I do for a living?”

Zayn turned away from him and stared at the crowd of people searching for their tables. “I’m through discussing Gigi’s father with you.”

“Oh, we’ve only just gotten started.” He tugged on his collar to make him look at him and asked, “Did you tell me Gigi works for a newspaper?”

It would have been petty not to answer. “Yes, she does. Everyone at the paper knows who she is. Detective Wincott found out, and I assumed he told you.”

Wincott was probably having a real good laugh about now. “No, he didn’t tell me,” he said. “It must have slipped his mind. What was it like for Gigi growing up with Murad Hadid for a father?”

“He’s a very good father,” Zayn said. “He never missed a parent-teacher conference, and he always went to the plays and the tennis matches. He did his share of carpooling too.”

“Were there parents who wouldn’t let their kids hang around Gigi?”

“Yes.”

“Did your family?”

“Forbid me to hang out with her? Gigi and Louis and I had already become friends before Murad Hadid became so …”

“Notorious?”

“Famous,” he corrected. “My mother was busy socializing and traveling. My grandmother was in charge of me, and when she became ill, Harry took over. I don’t think my grandmother knew who Gigi’s father was, but Harry knew, and he didn’t tell her. My brother would never forbid me to be her friend. Gigi was always welcome in our home, but I wasn’t allowed to go to hers.” he smiled as he added, “I did, though, all the time.”

He was teasing when he asked, “Did you ever get down in her basement? No one knows where Murad hides all his money. Maybe it’s there.”

Zayn put his hand down on top of Liam’s. “Liam, Gigi is my friend.”

He started to ask another question but Zayn stopped him by squeezing his hand. “She’s my friend.”

***

Liam hated formal affairs, and he didn’t particularly like the country club scene either, but he didn’t mind wearing the tuxedo tonight because of Zayn. There was something about him that was so compelling, so vibrant, and yet there was a vulnerability too he found utterly charming. Gigi told them a sad story about a young man she knew, and when she was finished, Zayn had tears in his eyes.

“It had a happy ending,” Gigi said.

Embarrassed by his tears, Zayn wiped the tears with the palm of his hands and laughed. “I’m a cry-baby.”

“That used to be his nickname,” Gigi said.

“When I found out what some of the kids were calling me, I cried,” he said. “But that was when I was in school. I got over it.”

“Zayn wears his heart on his sleeve.”

Zayn didn’t argue. He picked up his glass of Perrier and lime and took a sip.

Liam loved watching his expressions. Zayn was so refreshingly different. What he was feeling was right there for anyone to see. He wasn’t a game player, and he wasn’t the least bit self-serving or self-involved. That, too, was a refreshing change from other rich people he’d met.

Zayn had a face that could grace the cover of a fashion magazine and an incredible body, but what he liked most about him was his loyalty to his friends. Well, maybe not most of all, he admitted. He was the sexiest man he had ever met in real life hands down.

But he was still just a job. Liam had to remind himself of that fact every time he looked at that sweet mouth of his.

Gigi excused herself to go search for her date. Liam sat down again, declined the wine the waiter was offering, and asked Zayn, “Is that any good?” with a nod toward his non-alcoholic drink.

Zayn handed the glass to him and watched him gulp it down. Smiling he said, “You were supposed to take a sip.”

“I never sip. If I’m gonna drink something, I don’t fool around,” Liam said. “And that pretty much defines my philosophy in life.”

“Don’t sip, gulp?” When he nodded, Zayn laughed.

He put the empty glass down, ordered two more, one for Zayn and one for himself, and then said, “Heads up.”

“Excuse me?”

“Harry’s here.”

Zayn was still smiling when he turned and watched his brother walk into the ballroom. He didn’t have a date, and he didn’t notice Zayn, but then they were all but hidden in the back corner. He watched him walk toward the podium, where Daniel McDonnell, the administrator of Parkdale Hospital, stood waiting for him.

Gigi also saw Harry as she was making her way back to their table. She hurried to intercept him, said something that made him smile, then stretched up and kissed him on the cheek.

Niall walked in a minute later with Louis at his side. He, too, was smiling. His brother looked relaxed, he thought. Sleep-deprived, but relaxed. Jet lag would, no doubt, catch up with him tomorrow.

“The man with Louis …”

“Niall, right?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“I see some family resemblance,” he said. “But I also recognized him from a newspaper photo Henry showed me. You and your brothers were at a dedication. Henry told me he was going to have the photo framed because it was rare for all of you to be together.”

Zayn nodded. “That’s true. It seems the only time we get together is when there’s a funeral or a crisis.”

“A what?”

“A crisis.”

He leaned his elbows on the table and thought about what he’d just said.

Zayn looked back at Niall and said, “I should go say hello to my brother.”

“Two brothers are here,” he said.

He smiled. “Yes, but I’m only going to be nice to one of them.”

Liam chuckled. “Spoken like a true brother.”

He pushed his chair back to stand, and made his way to his brother. Liam bolted to his feet. This suit enhanced his attractiveness a little too well for his liking. No, that wasn’t exactly true. He liked looking at Zayn. He just didn’t want anyone else to.

He was about to tell him that he will come with him when Zayn turned to him. They stood just inches apart, face to face. If he moved as much as a couple of inches, his mouth would be on top of Zayn’s. He stopped himself in time. He did not want to sound too oppressive.

 _Zayn wasn’t his boyfriend. He’s a job, nothing more._ Those words became a chant inside his head, and yet he was having trouble accepting it.

“Liam? You were saying?”

“Stay in the room,” he said gruffly. “I’ll be watching, but stay in the room.”

“Yes, of course.”

Louis was bringing Niall to Zayn. He met them halfway across the ballroom, hugged his brother, and welcomed him home.

Liam watched the reunion, and a virtual light bulb blinked in his mind. Zayn’s voice resounded in his head saying _“That’s true. It seems the only time we get together is when there’s a funeral or a crisis.”_

He pulled out his cell phone. He dialled Wincott’s cell number. The detective answered on the second ring.

Liam didn’t waste time on pleasantries. “Check out the brothers.”

“The ball that boring, huh?”

“I mean it. Check them out.”

“We already have,” he said. “And you’re not supposed to have any involvement in the investigation.”

It was almost impossible for Liam to back off. He didn’t want to jeopardize Wincott’s future with the department, and he knew that if Lewis found out he was doing anything more than guarding Zayn, he would make Wincott’s life miserable.

“So what are you thinking?” Wincott asked.

“Maybe this guy is after the whole family, or maybe he’s using Zayn to get all the brothers back in London. I know you’ve checked them out, but go deeper. There might be something there.”

“Okay,” he said. “We’ll dig deeper.”

“Look, I know you’re overworked and understaffed. I’ll call Gil and ask him to check out a couple of things.”

“So you’re not involved, but you are?”

“I really want to follow up on a hunch.”

“That’s fine with me … if Gil doesn’t mind.”

“Did anything come up on Zayn?”

“Since you asked this morning? No. The people he turned down for grants were the only ones who had a grudge. Although, there were a couple of nutcases—you know, people who wanted money for weird inventions—but they checked out okay. Weird, but okay,” he said. “I already told you we’re looking at Peter Morris,” he added. “His friends checked out too. I guess by now you’ve figured out who Gigi Hadid’s father is.”

“Thanks for telling me.” Liam said wryly.

Wincott laughed. “I almost fell off the chair when I found out. It doesn’t appear to make any difference to Zayn or his brothers. They don’t blame the daughter for the sins of her father.”

“That’s the way it should be.”

“We’ve ruled Murad Hadid out. I’m getting another call.”

Liam flipped the phone closed and put it back in his pocket. He stood with his back to the wall, his arms folded across his chest, watching the crowd.

Harry had joined his two younger brothers. Louis seemed to be the only one interested in what he had to say. No, interested wasn’t the right description, Liam thought. Louis looked enthralled. Zayn, on the other hand, looked furious. Harry was still talking when he shook his head, turned, and walked back to their table. Several men and women tried to engage him in conversation, but other than smiling at each one, Zayn paid them no attention and continued on.

Liam pulled the chair out for him, but he didn’t sit. He stood next to him and stared at the entrance.

Louis had followed Zayn, and he smiled when Liam pulled his chair out for him. “Who are you looking for?” Lou asked Zayn as he placed the napkin on his lap. He turned around to see who Zayn was watching, and then said, “Oh, I see.”

“See what?” Liam asked.

“Mr. and Mrs. Sleazebag just walked in,” Louis said.

Liam didn’t comment, but he did track the couple as they made their way around the tables to get to their seats. Emerson’s face was red, no doubt from alcohol, Liam thought. His wife was adjusting her bodice and fluffing her long platinum hair. An interesting couple, he decided, and he wondered what Wincott had found out about them.

Gigi and Jeff returned to the table, and Gigi craned her neck so she, too, could watch the couple. When they had taken their seats, she turned to Zayn and said, “The whole family’s here. Isn’t that lovely?”

“Just super.”

“Danny isn’t here,” Louis pointed out.

“I was being sarcastic,” Gigi said. She told Zayn and Liam to sit down, for heaven’s sake, and then added, “Harry had no right to invite Emerson. He knows how Zayn feels about him. I think it was terribly disloyal of him, and I told him so.”

Louis immediately rushed to Harry’s defence. “You can’t know if he invited him or not.”

“Of course I can know,” Gigi countered. “Harry told me he invited him,” she rushed to add when Louis looked as if he was going to argue.

“What did he say when you called him disloyal?” Louis asked.

“He said it was cheaper than a lawsuit and for me to behave myself tonight,” Gigi said. “He still treats me like I’m a ten-year-old.”

Waiters appeared with the first course. The conversation turned to lighter topics during dinner, and Zayn was thankful for that. Jeff told several humorous stories about a tennis competition he’d entered, and Zayn tried to look interested. He wasn’t hungry. Seeing Emerson had destroyed the leftover of his appetite, but no one seemed to notice he was moving the food around his plate and not really eating it.

After dinner, but before the dancing began, Daniel McDonnell stepped up to the podium and tapped on the microphone to get everyone’s attention.

“Please tell me there aren’t going to be a dozen or so boring speakers,” Louis said.

“Just one boring speaker,” Zayn replied.

“For a thousand dollars a plate, we shouldn’t have to listen to anyone,” Gigi said.

“Hush,” Louis whispered. “People can hear you.”

A moment later, after the administrator had thanked everyone for attending, he introduced Zayn. Louis and Gigi both laughed.

“Keep it short and sweet,” Gigi said.

“As opposed to long and boring?” Zayn teased.

Deciding to improvise, he left the note cards on the table. Liam stood when Zayn did, but he didn’t follow him. He watched the crowd and the doors. He did notice that every eye was on Zayn as he made his way to the podium.

It took him all of thirty seconds to hook his audience and less than that to mesmerize them.

The hospital was located in the heart of the inner city, and Zayn stressed the importance of keeping it open. There was a desperate need for money and for additional beds, which meant a drive to expand.

“And that’s why you’re here,” he said.

They were smiling as he reeled them in. Liam was amazed. he talked about money, and he got them to listen. He had his audience in the palm of his hand, and by the time he finished, Liam wanted to empty his savings account to help out. He was that good.

There was such passion in his voice and a determination to get the job done. It was a side of Zayn that Liam hadn’t seen until tonight, and he was all the more impressed. The man just kept getting better and better.

When he finished, he received a standing ovation and was immediately surrounded by guests. Liam didn’t like the crowd pressing in on him. He went to his side, put his arm around him, and pulled him back so that his shoulders were pressed against his chest.

Liam spotted Emerson, drink in hand, tottering toward him with a scowl on his face. “Come on. Let’s dance,” he said.

“The music hasn’t started yet.”

“I’ll hum.”

He was treating him like a football he had tucked under his arm as he zigzagged his way to the dance floor. Fortunately, the music did start just as he pulled him into his arms.

“Liam?” he began.

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

Zayn had been looking over the crowd but glanced down and smiled. “You saw him coming?”

Liam nodded. Zayn’s fingers were tickling the back of his neck. He was trying hard not to show any reaction, but he couldn’t help thinking how soft and right he felt in his arms. When he looked directly into his eyes, he began to imagine all sorts of things.

_Man, did he need to get laid. Yeah, that was why Zayn was having such a powerful effect on him. Lust. That’s what it was. Plain old lust. And he needed to clear his head and stop thinking about how good he would feel in his arms in his bed with his legs around …_

“We won’t have to stay much longer.”

One of the waiters caught his attention. He was standing by the door holding an oval tray. He was staring at Zayn. While Liam watched, another waiter tapped the man on his shoulder and got him moving again.

“I’m not in a hurry to leave.”

“Who are you watching?” Zayn asked.

The waiter carried the empty tray out of the room. “No one in particular.”

“You’re not bored to death?”

He smiled. “I’m still breathing, aren’t I?”

The song ended. People were moving in on Zayn, but Liam managed to run interference and get him back to the table without stopping.

“You’re being rude dragging me along. I’m supposed to be nice to these people so they’ll give me some of their hard-earned money for the hospital expansion.”

“Most of the people here didn’t earn their money. They inherited it.”

“Yes, but I still have to—”

Liam cut him off. “You can be nice sitting here,” he said. He pulled out his chair and added, “You don’t want Louis to sit all by himself, do you?”

The chair hit the back of his knees. He didn’t have a choice. He was sitting whether he wanted to or not.

“You have noticed Louis isn’t at the table. He’s dancing.”

“Yes, but he’s coming back.”

Liam sat beside him, draped his arm over the back of his seat and his finger trailed down the side of his neck. Zayn sat beside him for several minutes watching the couples on the dance floor, but every once in a while, he’d glance over at him. _Had he imagined the touch, the shiver he’d evoked? Was he that starved for affection that a simple brush of his hand against his skin sent him into a spin?_

 _Don’t think about it_. _Think about something else. His friends._ _Yes. Were they having a good time? Gigi looked as if she was. She and Jeff were having an animated conversation as they waltzed past, and Louis was dancing with Harry._

“What do you think of my friends?”

Liam was watching Louis when he answered. “I like them.”

Zayn smiled as though he’d just complimented him. “When we were little, Louis and I were certain that Gigi would be married before she turned twenty, but now we’re not so sure she’ll ever settle down. She’s having too much fun. Louis, on the other hand, is a true romantic. He says he’s waiting for his one true love.”

Liam nodded toward the dance floor. “Maybe he’s already found him.”

He leaned in to Liam’s side while he looked over the crowd.

When he found Louis, he burst into laughter. “He’s dancing with Harry, for fuck’s sake.”

“Yes, he is.”

“Are you suggesting that Louis and Harry …?” Zayn laughed again. The possibility was ludicrous to him. _His best friend and his brother?_

Liam wanted to tell him to watch his friend’s face. The way that Louis was looking at Harry more than suggested that he at least had a bad crush for the guy. Liam didn’t think Harry had a clue, though, how Louis felt.

“I could be wrong,” he said, deciding to be diplomatic.

“You are wrong. Harry thinks of Louis as my friend. Nothing more. He watched him grow up because he was always at our house. And he thinks of him as my brother and nothing more.”

“Yeah, I’ve got it. Nothing more, right?”

“That’s right.”

They continued to watch the dancing couples.

“Daniel’s looking worried,” Zayn said.

“Who’s Daniel?”

“Daniel McDonnell.”

He could tell he still didn’t know whom he was talking about. “The hospital administrator. He’s waiting for me to circulate and beg for money. Would you like to come with me?”

“No, I can watch you beg from here. Just stay in the room where I can see you.”

He stood again with his back to the wall and watched him walk away. Zayn turned once and smiled at him. He loved the way Zayn smiled, all teeth and tongue pressed to them, eyes almost closed. He was adorable when he smiled.

His cell phone vibrated. He didn’t look at the caller ID before answering.

“Payne.”

Noah Anderson, his sister’s partner was on the line. He developed a weird brotherly friendship with him since the day he met him.

“I’m stuck in Paris.”

“What are you doing there?”

“Eating Frogs.” He answered sarcastically.

“So you’re not coming to London?”

“Probably not, yet. Where are you? I hear music in the background.”

“I’m at a country club, and you’re hearing a band playing. I’m on duty,” he explained.

“Doing what?”

He sighed and braced himself for the teasing to come. “Bodyguard duty.”

“Huh. I guess that’s better than a suspension. What’d you do wrong?”

“What makes you think I did anything wrong?”

Noah laughed. “You’re kidding, right? You’ve been demoted to bodyguard. You did something wrong, all right.”

“Yeah, I did. I made the Inspector look bad.”

Noah was nosy as usual. “How’d you do that?”

“I resigned,” he said, and then added, “look, it’s a long story. I’ll tell you all about it over a beer sometime.”

“Yeah, okay. So maybe I’ll see you soon. I’ll call to let you know.”

“Wait a minute. I want to ask you something.”

“What?”

“It’s kind of an odd thing to ask, but I was just curious …”

“Curious about what?” he asked when Liam hesitated.

“Guys.”

“Huh. I sort of thought your father or one of your older sisters would have given you the sex talk, but if you—”

“Very funny,” he snapped. “What I was wondering …”

“Yeah? Spit it out.”

“You’ve been with a lot of … men right.”

“I like men.” Noah agreed.

“And you’ve been in a few relationships, haven’t you? You know what I’m talking about, don’t you? A relationship that’s lasted more than twenty-four hours, maybe even as long as a week? Short-term, but still a relationship.”

“Yes, I have.”

“Okay, so what I want to know is this. In any of those relationships, did you ever become possessive? Did it ever bother you that other guys were trying to hit on the man you were with?”

“Ah, jeez. Who is he?”

“Just answer the question.”

“No, I’ve never become possessive.” There was laughter in his voice.

It wasn’t the answer Liam wanted to hear, and he was sorry he’d asked the question because now Noah’s curiosity was pricked.

“You’re in a relationship with a man, and you don’t want any other man hitting on him. Did I get that right?”

He knew Noah was yanking his chain, but he still reacted. “No, damn it. That’s not right. I’m not in a relationship.”

“Huh.”

“Huh, what?”

“You’re not sleeping with him, but you’re still feeling possessive.”

Liam spotted Emerson heading toward Zayn again. He was standing next to his brothers talking to the hospital administrator, who appeared to be hanging on his every word.

“Listen, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention this conversation to Nick.”

Noah laughed. “Yeah, like that’s gonna happen. Your sister’s my partner. I’ve got to tell her. We spend a lot of time on stakeouts together, and this is definitely stakeout conversation. Besides, how often do I get to make fun of one you?”

Liam could feel his temper rising. “There’s nothing to tell.” He pictured putting his hand through the phone and grabbing Noah by the neck and choking him. Odd, but that fantasy actually made him feel better. He was still sorry he’d brought up the topic, though, and he knew it was going to take a long time for Noah to forget about it.

“Listen, Liam. You better be careful, or you won’t leave London a single man. I know what I’m talking about. I saw it happen to Nick and Thea. And it was pretty painful to watch. Both of your sisters went through the juvenile don’t-look, don’t-touch, don’t-even-think-about-it phase when they first met their hubbies.”

“That’s never going to happen to you, though, is it, Noah?”

“Hell, no.”

Liam laughed, his good mood restored. He could almost hear the shudder in his friend’s voice when he’d given the denial.

“Are you about finished with the girly talk?”

“Yeah.”

Noah then invited him to a fishing trip he was thinking of taking with one of his family friends. “We’re thinking Canada. You interested?”

“Sure, if I can get away.”

Zayn was now dancing with Gigi’s date. What was his name? Oh, yeah. Jeff something or other. He was harmless, Liam thought. Emerson didn’t look harmless, though. Anger radiated from his eyes as he watched Zayn. He leaned against a pillar gulping down a tall drink while he waited for the music to end. He obviously wasn’t through pestering Zayn.

“Gotta go,” he said and ended the call.

Emerson had just trapped Zayn as he was leaving the dance floor. Liam started forward, then stopped. He decided not to interfere. Zayn was a big boy. He could handle himself.

Zayn’s expression went stone-cold, but he didn’t run from Emerson. He simply stood there as the old man rambled on and on. When he had had enough, he tried to walk away, but Emerson grabbed hold of his arm just above the wrist and wouldn’t let go. Zayn’s demeanour didn’t change, but his sure did. Zayn put his hand down on top of his, and from the look of shock and pain on the drunk’s face, Liam surmised he’d bent a couple of his fingers back into a painful position.

Liam was proud of him. Being raised along three older brothers did have some perks, even if those brothers were overbearing and intrusive.

Zayn didn’t come back to the table for a long time. He made the rounds, working the room, and he was fun to watch. The administrator followed in his wake to collect checks and pledges for more. People loved Zayn. Most people, anyway; Emerson’s wife was glaring at him.

Every once in a while, Zayn would turn toward Liam and smile at him. He thought maybe he was checking to make sure Liam was still there.

A good forty-five minutes passed before he stopped selling the hospital. Zayn scanned the crowd until he found Harry. It took him a while to get to him because men and women kept stopping him to talk, some taking his hand as they spoke to him. When he finally reached his brother, he started talking before Zayn had a chance to say anything, and whatever Harry was telling him didn’t sit well. Zayn looked stunned, but he was quick to recover. His face was flushed, and he shook his head several times.

Then Niall joined in, and it didn’t take Liam any time at all to figure out that the two brothers were united on some issue, and Zayn was disagreeing. Liam would have bet a hundred pounds that the issue under hot discussion was Emerson.

By the time Zayn walked back to the table, he was shaking. He knew his reaction was due to anger, not fatigue. Zayn was too furious to sit, and so he stood next to him and tried to calm down.

“Anything I can help with?” Liam asked.

“No, but thanks for offering.”

“Then I suggest you take a couple of deep breaths and shake it off.”

The detective didn’t miss a trick. “You saw?”

“Yes.”

“My brothers are so …”

Liam waited for him to say whatever cuss words was on his mind.

“So what?” he asked, trying not to smile.

“Practical.”

He blinked. Zayn made practical sound like a sin. “And that’s pretty awful, is it?”

“In this instance it is,” Zayn said. “And stop laughing at me.”

His hands were balled into fists and his spine was as rigid as one of the marble columns. Liam put his arm around his shoulders and gave them a gentle squeeze.

Zayn turned to him, his back to the room, thinking to tell him that they didn’t have to stay any longer, but the words got all tangled up inside his mind. It was all Liam’s fault. The way he was looking at him, with such warmth and obvious amusement … he’d never met anyone like him.

“Liam?” he said.

“Yes?”

Zayn took a step closer and whispered so he wouldn’t be overheard. “I was wondering …”

Liam didn’t say a word. He simply waited until he continued. He could feel himself gradually blushing now, heat blazing his face.

“If we had met in a different place … at a different time … would you …?”

Zayn didn’t go on. He didn’t have to. He nodded and quietly said, “Oh, yeah, I would.”

Neither one of them said another word for several minutes. A classic Sinatra song was playing in the background.

Zayn looked into Liam’s eyes. “What are you thinking?” he asked before he could stop himself.

His smile could melt steel. “I’ll tell you later.”

“Tell me now.”

He looked over the room again. Zayn thought he’d dismissed the question until he said, “I’m on duty now.”

“And?” he prodded.

Liam grinned. “I won’t be later.”

Zayn bit his lower lip just thinking about what Liam had to ‘tell’.


	24. Chapter Twenty-Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you gonna love me or what?  
>  Update alert and sexy times...  
>  tell me your thoughts about this in the comments!  
>  Thank you for reading :D  
>  Edit: Guys for anyone who still did not know this is an adaption of the amazing julie Garwood's book Murder List...I mention this in the notes in the prologue.  
>  If you don't like that I recommend you go buy her book because I did. I'm not claiming im a published writer or a word wiz im just doing this for the lack of ziam fanfics and for ziam shippers to have sth to enjoy. Do I gain sth from this? Hell no. Rorz is not even my name. Will I try to gain sth from this? Hell no, Im not stupid. I already know this is not my book. If you're a ziam shipper you're going to enjoy this hopefully. Ps: if you wanna check out my writing style you can go read my ziam fanfic Secrets_ that if you haven't read it yet. Thank you guys for reading and for support. Love you all.

It was more show than tell.

There was very little conversation on the way back to the hotel. After making certain they weren’t being followed, Liam put the car on cruise control, settled back, and thought about his current situation. He was determined to figure out why he was having so much trouble keeping his professional and his personal life separate.

He knew what he should do. He should leave Zayn the hell alone, tell the boss he was through, and then pack up his things and get out of London. Yeah, that’s what he should do.

He had the feeling he wasn’t going to, though. Zayn had already crawled under his skin and was now messing with his mind. He wasn’t sure how it had happened or what he could do about it, and not knowing was making him as restless as a caged animal.

Next to him, however, he looked absolutely tranquil. Ever since they’d left the country club, Zayn had been staring straight ahead and sitting straight.

Zayn was trying very hard to look calm and cool. He didn’t want Liam to know how nervous he was, and he was certain he was doing a fair job of concealing it.

Zayn had never felt this way before about someone, all twisted up in knots inside. Everything about detective Payne disrupted his concentration, the way he smiled, the way he moved, the way he looked at him. He’d probably used just that look on at least a hundred of other people he slept with and most assuredly had gotten exactly what he wanted from them. As crazy as it was to admit, just sitting this close to him in the car was making him breathless.

Liam noticed he had folded his arms and he was frowning intently. Whatever he was thinking about wasn’t pleasant.

“Is something wrong?”

 _Of course something’s wrong. I’ve just realized I’m a complete idiot._ “No, nothing.”

“Okay,” he said, going along with the lie. “Then what are you thinking about?”

“Right now?” he was stalling for time while he tried to come up with something believable.

“No, a week ago Tuesday.” He smiled. “Yes, right now.”

“Physical attraction,” he blurted.

“No kidding. I never would have guessed that.”

Zayn shrugged. “You asked. I answered.”

“So, what about it?” he prodded.

“I just realized that you can’t control who you’re attracted to,” he said. “It can be … instant. Yes, instantaneous.” he nodded for emphasis.

It wasn’t until Liam reached over and put his hand on top of his that he realized he was digging his nails into his skin. He instantly stopped.

He pulled his hand back as he said, “You’re just now figuring that out?”

“I was just now thinking about it.” His tone was definitely defensive.

He wouldn’t let him get away with that. “No, you said you just realized that sometimes—”

Zayn interrupted. “Okay, maybe I was just now figuring it out. I haven’t taken the time to think about it until now.”

“The ‘it’ is physical attraction?”

From the laughter in his voice, he could tell he was having a good time.

“Oh, shut up.”

“You’re easy to get riled up.”

“Sometimes,” Zayn replied. “But I’m very good at concealing my feelings when I want to.”

Liam laughed. “No, you’re not. You’re terrible at it.”

Zayn was stunned he’d think such a thing. “I beg to differ. I’ve had years of experience,” he said. “And if I didn’t want you to know what I was thinking, then, trust me, you wouldn’t.”

Exasperated, Liam said, “I don’t care how many years you’ve practiced, you’re still terrible at it. Your every emotion shows on your face.”

Zayn wasn’t going to continue to argue with him. He certainly didn’t need to have the last word. “You’re wrong.”

Liam changed the subject. “All those guys at that club tonight …?”

“Yes?”

“Did you ever date any of them?”

“No.”

“Are you dating anyone now?” he asked.

“No.”

“Huh.”

Zayn smiled with a raised eyebrow. “Huh, what?”

“I never would have guessed that.”

“Are you dating anyone now?” he asked coyly.

“No.”

“Huh.”

Liam began to laugh. “Huh, what?”

“I never would have guessed that.” Then he added, “We should probably talk about something else.”

“Why?”

“We just should.”

“Okay,” he said. “Have you ever been in a long-term relationship?”

Zayn rolled his eyes. “That isn’t talking about something else.”

“Have you?”

Liam changed lanes, checked the rear-view mirror, and then glanced at Zayn. “Are you going to answer or what?”

“I was … sort of in a relationship with a man named Dennis, but it ended several months ago.”

“What’s a ‘sort of relationship?”

“I wanted it to work but I guess I wanted him because he was convenient at that time. There wasn’t any physical attraction, though, but I thought that in time there would be.”

“You can’t program something like that. It’s either there, or it isn’t.”

Zayn nodded but didn’t comment. “We’re the next exit.”

“I know. Is that why you ended it?”

“How do you know I ended it?”

 _Because Dennis would be fucking mental to walk away from you._ “Just a guess,” he said.

“Yes, I ended it. He was interested in my money, not me. I was more angry than hurt when I realized what a jerk he was. We never…”

“Never what?”

“The relationship hadn’t become physical.” Zayn virtually slapped himself the moment he said that, he couldn’t believe he’d told Liam that.

“Because there was no physical attraction.”

“Exactly.” He said, now he could not avoid the blush that crept to his face.

“Were there any hard feelings?”

“Maybe at first. He called often,” he replied. “But then he finally gave up and moved on. Last I heard, he was engaged.”

“That was quick.”

“His fiancé is an heir.”

He nodded. “Did you tell Wincott about Dennis?”

“Yes, I did.”

Neither one of them said another word for several minutes. Zayn was thinking about Liam and the way he was reacting to him. It was dangerous, this attraction. Liam was just doing his job, and when he was finished, he would leave. Simple as that. If he became too attached to Liam, he’d be miserable when he left, his heart would break and he can’t have that.

_Okay, think of all the reasons why you shouldn’t get involved, no matter how outrageous. There was, of course, the obvious reason. His heart would be broken._

Even to kiss him would be unethical, Zayn decided, and maybe grounds for a sexual harassment lawsuit. Zayn sighed. God help him, he was beginning to think like Harry. The possibility of litigation would always leap into his elder brother’s mind first. But it could happen, Zayn told himself. After all, the man was stuck with him. Zayn was the one in the position of power, wasn’t he? And in a way, didn’t Liam work for him? He had been ordered to protect him, and if he made any kind of sexual advances, the detective would have every right to take him to court. He could just see it now. His picture plastered all over the newspapers, and reporters with camera crews chasing him into the courthouse. It would be another scandalous nightmare.

By the time they’d reached the hotel, Zayn had convinced himself that he was in complete control of his emotions. He had sorted it all out. Yes, he was definitely back in control.

Liam took his hand as they crossed the lobby. He nodded to the security guard stationed in front of the elevators. He’d already checked his credentials and knew who he was.

They were on their way up to his floor when Zayn said, “I’m sorry I didn’t introduce you to Niall.”

“That’s okay. It didn’t look like you were having a happy reunion.”

“You noticed?” Zayn asked surprised.

“You mean you were hiding your emotions, and I wasn’t supposed to notice?”

“Are you making fun of me?”

“A little.”

The elevator stopped. Liam stepped out first. He nodded to the policeman facing the doors.

“Is it quiet tonight?”

“Yes, sir, it is.”

“Good.”

All of the rooms down his corridor were now vacant and were to remain that way until further notice. That was yet another security precaution Harry had made without consulting him.

“That policeman looks familiar,” he said. “But I haven’t seen him here before, have I?”

“No,” Liam answered. “This is his first night. You saw him in Lewis’s office.”

“That’s right. You were defending him. He didn’t get fired, did he?”

“No,” he assured him. “He’s taking a couple of shifts here for extra money.”

Zayn nodded and then asked, “Are you going to be here tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“You’re sure? It’s Sunday.”

“I know.”

“When are you going to pack?”

“Let me worry about that.”

“I’ll introduce you to Niall tomorrow then. And you’ll get to talk to Harry again. Won’t that be a treat? They’ll both try to tell you how to do your job.”

Liam shrugged. “That won’t bother me. So, I’m gonna be seeing both of them?”

“Oh, yes. Tonight, you see, was round one. They’ll try again tomorrow.”

“Try what again?”

“To get me to agree to give Emerson a ‘go away’ settlement. I won’t agree, though, no matter how practical it is.”

“Are you telling me they blindsided you during that party tonight?”

Zayn nodded. “Of course they did. They knew I wouldn’t make a scene in public.”

He smiled. “And you’ve made a lot of scenes in the past?”

“When I was younger, I did.” Zayn said with a smile, now he knows it was not worth it because he would always come as the bad guy.

They’d turned the corner and were standing in front of his door. He tried to tell Liam thank you and good night in the hall. Liam looked exasperated with him, took the key out of his hand, and unlocked the door.

“As many times as we’ve done this, you still don’t have it down?”

Zayn didn’t answer. Liam went in first, as was the routine. He followed and shut the door, then waited until he had checked the bedroom, the closet, and the bath.

“All clear.”

He was removing his bowtie as he walked into the parlour. Zayn had already taken off his coat and draped it over the arm of a chair. He was blocking the door but couldn’t make himself move.

Zayn cleared his throat. “Thank you for going with me tonight.” The suite seemed to be getting smaller and smaller the closer he came. He smiled, and Zayn’s knees began to wobble. “I really appreciate it.” His voice hoarse. If Liam would only stop looking at him and give him time to organize his thoughts, he might be able to move out of his way and let him leave.

“Zayn, I was doing my job.” Liam tucked the bow tie into his pocket and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt. “There, that’s better. Now I can breathe. So here’s the thing.” He walked over to Zayn, reached around him to slip the dead bolt in place, and then placed both hands on the door on either side of his face, trapping him between his arms. Zayn’s shoulders were pressed against the door.

 _Don’t think about it,_ Zayn thought fiercely. _Just don’t think about it. God, he smelled good._ He’d never thought he’d got so turned on by the faint scent of pomegranate body wash mixed with the fresh smell of citrusy aftershave. The scent of Liam of course makes the difference, right!

Okay, he was definitely losing it, he thought. If he could just make himself stop staring at him, but those eyes, and those lips, those incredible, gorgeous, seductive lips.

 _What had he just said? Something about the thing?_ “What thing?” Zayn whispered.

Liam knew he was flustering him. He leaned a little closer, but he still wasn’t touching him. “Guess what?”

His voice was husky and low. Zayn felt a tremor rush through him, it made goose bumps runs all over his skin. “What?”

Liam leaned closer yet still wasn’t touching him. “I’m not on duty now.”

He moved back an inch, then went completely still, and waited. If Zayn showed the least hesitation, he would walk away, and that would be that. He just hoped he wanted him to stay.

It took a couple of seconds, but then Zayn understood why he had stopped. It was up to him now.

He slowly ran his hands up Liam’s arms and then rested them around his neck, he gave him what he hoped to be a seductive smile and he angled his head to the side baring his neck. And waited. If this were a tennis match, the ball was now in his court.

He took a breath and held it. And closed his eyes. He felt Liam’s warm sweet breath against his ear a scant second before his mouth touched his skin. Shivers cascaded down his limbs. A simple little kiss and his heart started racing. Liam kissed his way down the side of his neck. His mouth was hot, yes, definitely hot and so skilful because there will definitely be some love bite marks on his neck later.

He wondered how he would react if Liam kissed him on the mouth. He’d probably turn to mush. It was time to stop fooling around. Zayn was definitely going to send Liam home before he did anything he knew they would both regret in the morning.

He lowered his hands and put them flat on the detective’s chest and whispered, “Liam?”

Liam immediately stepped back. He didn’t say a word. He simply stared into his eyes and waited.

Zayn couldn’t blame anyone but himself for what happened next. He grabbed the lapels of his jacket and jerked him forward. His mouth was but an inch away from Liam’s when he murmured, “Don’t sue me.”

Zayn was not messing around.

He didn’t give Liam a chance to ask him what he meant by what he said. Clutching those lapels in a death grip, Zayn stretched up on toes and kissed him, long and hard, frantically and passionately, just the way he had fantasized. One absolutely perfect kiss, Zayn told himself, one powerful, all-consuming kiss that would surely satisfy his unreasonable craving. Then he would let go of him, unlock the door, send him home and have a good wank, thank you very much.

It was a good plan, really it was. It would have worked too if Liam had cooperated and remained passive. He didn’t cooperate, though. He participated. And then he took over. His arms suddenly wrapped around him, and he held him tight as his mouth slanted over his with amazing control. The gorgeous detective made kissing an art form. His hand slid down his back. His mouth never left his as he lifted Zayn up against him, his other hand opened Zayn’s jacked and slithered to circle his waist. Oh, no, he definitely wasn’t remaining passive. Zayn probably should have spelled out the plan ahead of time, he supposed, and that was one of the last coherent thoughts he was able to hold onto while he kissed him senseless. His own hands found their place back around his neck, and his fingers were tugging on his brown hair.

Liam needn’t press Zayn to part his lips for him. He did that all on his own. He didn’t push him away when his tongue slipped inside. He gave as good as he was getting, and then some. Zayn did not stay passive against his assault, he met his ardent passion with some of his own. He moaned deep from his throat as their tongues rubbed against each other, and it made Liam want him even more.

When he finally ended the kiss, Zayn was shivering all over. He clung to him because he knew that if he let go, his legs wouldn’t support him. Liam’s hands were around his waist now underneath his jacket and he thought maybe he was holding him up, but he couldn’t be sure.

Neither one of them seemed inclined to let go. Zayn was selfish, he wanted a little bit more, just one more kiss, he thought, before he lost his nerve, and reason rushed in.

Liam must have wanted the same thing, because he tilted Zayn’s head back and kissed him again. Though it didn’t seem possible, this kiss was even better. And hotter. Liam was a master of seduction and so smooth he scared him a little. Zayn tightened his hold and tried to get closer to him. It was a scorching kiss that made him burn. He had never felt this way before. Never had a kiss affected him so passionately. Liam’s leg came between his, and he couldn’t help but grind on his thigh.  He heard him groan when he did that.

Liam pulled back, let out a ragged breath, and tried without success to move away. He couldn’t make himself let go of Zayn. Fuck it all, he just didn’t want to. His head dropped to the crook of his neck, and he took a couple of deep breaths, trying hard to recover. He loved the way Zayn felt in his arms. He loved his scent a mix of cinnamon and vanilla coconut smell with hint of white musk, and he loved the taste of him as well. He was having real trouble getting it together. How could a couple of kisses shake him like this?

He said out loud what he was thinking. “Fuck, Zayn.” His voice was as rough as gravel.

“Was that a good ‘Fuck’ or a bad one?” he panted.

He had to think about it before he answered. He lifted his head and looked into his amber eyes, saw the passion he’d ignited there, and felt tremendous satisfaction.

“It was a good ‘Fuck.’ Too good.” He was picturing him naked underneath him when he added, “We should probably stop while we…”

Zayn put his hand over his mouth to silence him. “Or …” he dragged the word out.

Liam grabbed Zayn’s hand and placed it flat against his chest. “Or what?” A hint of a smile softened his expression.

 _Don’t lose your nerve, don’t lose your nerve,_ Zayn silently chanted. He took a breath and whispered, “Or we could not stop.”

His hands moved to his shoulders and even as Liam was shaking his head at him, he was noticing how smooth and warm and soft Zayn’s skin was.

“You do know what kissing will lead to, don’t you?”

It was a stupid question, and he didn’t expect or wait for an answer. “A heap of misery, that’s what. We’re not machines. We can’t just turn it on and off. If we keep this make out session it’s gonna lead to …” He suddenly stopped, took a deep breath, and said, “But you also need to know that I don’t want what comes with it.”

Did Liam realize he was shaking him? Zayn didn’t think so. He wasn’t hurting him though. In fact, his touch was surprisingly gentle and sweet. Liam wanted him. He’d said those very words to him, and he couldn’t take them back. Zayn was thrilled, and yet frustrated, because he obviously wasn’t happy about it. The look on his face was so intense and angry, and intimidating, he suddenly felt as though he’d just poked a lion.

Zayn pushed his hands away. “Tell me, Leeyum, what comes with it?”

He was glaring at him now. “I’m leaving London, remember? I’ve made that clear, haven’t I? I’m packing up and getting out of here. Understand that?”

“Yes, I understand.”

“Okay then.”

“Okay, what?”

Liam gritted his teeth. He guessed he was going to have to spell it out for him. “The last thing I need or want is to leave a mess behind.”

Whoa. Zayn didn’t like hearing that. His eyes turned a darker shade of hazel, and his face became flushed. He was angry, all right, but Liam wasn’t going to take the words back.

“And I’m the mess?” he asked with a snappy voice.

He threaded his fingers through his hair to keep himself from grabbing angry Zayn and kissing him until he begged him to fuck him. He shook his head. _Bad plan_ , he told himself. He wasn’t going to give in to his desire. No way. He could be as tough as steel when he needed to, and he was always in control.

“What I’m trying to tell you is …”

“I’m a mess.” Zayn continued.

“Okay, that’s it. I’m through trying to be diplomatic about this.”

Zayn blinked. “Telling me I’m a mess is being diplomatic?”

“Fuck, yes and you are. A mess, that is. And that ‘Fuck’ wasn’t a good one.” He ripped off the black jacket of his tux and tossed it on the chair. “It’s hotter than a furnace in here.”

He began to roll up his shirtsleeves to keep his hands busy. Better to tear his clothes than Zayn’s expensive tux. That fucking expensive tux he was wearing was so amazingly perfect on him. He didn’t want to ruin it, but he didn’t want him wearing it with any other man either, and how could he justify that backward reasoning?

Zayn couldn’t hold his stare long. He focused on his chin and said, “I know I put you on the spot. It’s just that this is the first time I’ve ever tried to … you know … and I’m apparently causing you extreme anxiety. I’m just not any good at it. I realize my mistake. I just didn’t put enough thought into it.”

“Into what?” Liam asked.

_He couldn’t be that dense. No one could. Was he deliberately toying with him?_

“Into what?” he repeated when Zayn didn’t answer.

 _Seducing you, you fucking idiot._ That’s what Zayn wanted to say. He didn’t, though. Liam was right. It would become messy, and he had the feeling he’d be the one all messed up when the detective would leave.

“You’re right,” Zayn said. “Becoming involved, even for one night, would make things … complicated.”

Liam didn’t look relieved. Zayn edged around him, took off his shoes and socks, and continued on to the French doors. Liam had left one open when he’d checked the bedroom. He pushed the other door back and then turned around to tell him good night.

Liam stared at the king-sized bed for a long minute. He felt a tightness gathering in his chest, and his mouth was suddenly dry. Every possible fantasy about Zayn bombarded him. Hell, it was already messy.

And he wasn’t going anywhere.

From the moment Liam had bumped into him on the street and heard that wonderful laugh, he had become his for the taking. He never had a chance. His fate was sealed. He understood that now. No reason to keep fighting the attraction, he decided as he pulled away from the door. He made sure everything was locked up tight, then reached over and turned the lamp off.

He was unbuttoning his shirt as he headed toward Zayn. Light from the lamp on the bedside table spilled across the side of his face. His skin was golden, and he was, without a doubt, absolutely breath-taking. The most attractive guy he’d ever have the fortune of seeing in real life.

Zayn was nervous as hell. His eyes were huge, but he didn’t look away. He took a step toward him and then stopped. Liam gazed down his body. He noticed Zayn’s hands were clenched at his sides, and his toes were curled into the carpet as he watched him come his way.

“Just remember,” he whispered gruffly as he reached him. “You started this.”

He pulled him close, cupped his head in his hands, gently kissed his forehead, and then let go. Zayn knew he was giving him yet another chance to change his mind, one last chance perhaps to tell him to leave.

_Like that’s gonna happen!_

Liam held his breath while he waited for him to make up his mind. Zayn put his arms around his neck and smiled up at him with that adorable cute smile of his bumping their nose together. Nope, he never had a chance.

“Just you remember,” Zayn said, “that I started this.”

He kissed his chin, then moved lower and kissed the cute little birth mark on his throat, feeling the pulse beating rapidly at the base of his neck. Liam must have liked what he was doing because he cupped his ass pulled him tight against him, and so Zayn did it again while running his tongue to taste the skin there.

And then Liam took over. He tilted Zayn’s head back with a kiss that didn’t leave any doubt how much he wanted him. He lifted him until his feet were hovering off the ground as he ravaged his mouth. Zayn moaned from the surprise and the passion he felt flowing in his veins.

They were suddenly frantic to get their clothes off. Liam’s hands shook as he reached for the buttons of Zayn’s shirt. It was awkward because he couldn’t stop kissing him long enough to pay attention to what he was doing, and Zayn was trying to remove his shirt at the same time.

Zayn had gotten a couple of his buttons undone, and was tugging his shirt from his waistband when he accidentally touched his gun and holster. He reacted as though he’d just touched fire. He jerked back but then he looked at him, as if to ask if he could remove them.

“It’s okay,” he answered while lowering his head down to nibble on his earlobe.

Zayn groaned as the weapon was put away, backing him to the side of the bed, he put the weapon on his nightstand. He sighed as Liam continued his assault on his neck. His heart beat went erratic, and he was trying to catch his breath. Kissing had never caused such a reaction before. Granted, he hadn’t kissed all that many men, he was selective with his lovers, but he snogged enough to know that kissing Liam was completely different. He was already hard from just making out with him. Maybe it was because he was already emotionally invested. Everything about Liam aroused him. He needed to slow down so that he could savour every single minute of this night with him, but at the same time, he wanted him to hurry up and take his clothes off.

Liam made him step back so he could pull his shirt over his head. His chest was all muscle and his skin was slightly tanned, abs clearly defined and swirling brown hair continued a light path after his prominent v line.

He was beautiful, Zayn thought as Liam pulled him back into his arms, and he felt his hot skin against him. It wasn’t enough. He wrapped his hands around his neck and tugged on his hair to get him to kiss him again.

The kiss was hot and wet. Liam felt like Zayn was melting against him.

Liam forced himself to stop kissing him long enough to get these bloody clothes off of Zayn.

He nearly tore up the rest of his shirt buttons and scrambled the zip of his pants, but as awkward as undressing Zayn was he finally managed to do it. He finally saw Zayn naked, well nearly naked since he still has his thin layer of boxers on, but he was speechless. Zayn was all toned, flawless olive skin, adorned with black ink, except for the lips on his chest that were cherry red. He ran his hands from his chest to the hem of his underwear, his fingers tugging the elastic low on his hip, exposing his black inked heart.

Liam didn’t know which turned him on more. The indrawn breath Zayn took when he’d touched him or seeing that little black heart on his bony hip.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered in awe, like he was telling him an important secret.

Zayn reached down to undress Liam from his pants, but suddenly froze when Liam’s hands slid inside his underwear and began to caress his skin. He cupped his cheeks in each hand and slightly smiled at the hushed gasp that slipped from the pretty boy’s lips. He kissed him again unhurriedly, lazily and languidly like they had all the time in the world.

When they were nearly breathless, Liam stopped the kiss and he turned him around, his hands slowly circled him, his mouth, lips and wicked tongue were working on his neck. Zayn made a tiny gasp in the back of his throat and fell back against him while Liam’s fingers circled and pinched his sensitive nipples. Trembling with desire, he didn’t know how much of this exquisite torture he would withstand without coming apart. However, he hadn’t start to beg until Liam’s right hand slithered down his boxer’s again but this time to hold his hard cock.

Zayn’s response drove Liam crazy. His head dropped down to the side of his neck, and his breathing became harsh. He managed to let go of him long enough to get undressed. Liam scrambled quickly with the rest of his cloths. He knew it was only a matter of minutes before he lost all control. He wanted Zayn so ready before he did that.

“We’ve got to slow down.”

He meant what he said, but then he turned around and they were now chest to chest. Slowing down didn’t seem all that important any longer.

They fell together onto the bed. He cradled him in his arms as he laid on the bed back pressed on to the headboard, Zayn straddling his lap. He lowered the dark haired boy down to taste his mouth one more time, as his hand slipped yet again inside his underwear, fingers rubbing languidly between his sweet ass cheeks.

Zayn moaned at the back of his throat and sensually moved his hips to rub his hard cock on his abdomen. He wantonly said Liam’s name in a whine when the latter’s middle finger pressed against his puckered hole.

“You don’t have to beg Zayn…” he murmured huskily.

He flipped them so Zayn was on the bed and as he rolled him onto his back and nudged his thighs apart with his knee. He braced his weight so he wouldn’t crush him. Then he growled low in his throat because one of his fantasies about Zayn was finally coming true. He had him right where he wanted him.

Zayn looked dishevelled and thoroughly aroused. His hair was a mess and spilling on the pillow, his eyes were dark with passion, and his rosy lips were swollen from his kisses. He knew it was a primitive, barbaric response on his part, but he was still arrogantly pleased that he had put his mark on him. He’d never felt this way about any other person. What was next? He wondered. Would he turn into a caveman? Would he start shouting like Tarzan? Or pee around him to protect his territory?

He shook his head when Zayn tried to pull him down to kiss. He rolled to his side and took his time looking at his perfect body.

“I’ve been thinking about this a long time.” He slowly trailed his fingertips down his neck, then lower to his chest and then belly button, smiling over the goose bumps he left behind. He tried to grab his hand when he reached his navel. He wouldn’t be stopped, though.

And he wouldn’t be rushed. Ever so slowly he removed his boxers, taking his time, savouring every inch of golden skin he touched.

Zayn batted his ever long eyelashes, as he watched him as he caress him. Liam’s jaw was clenched tight, and sweat had broken out on his forehead. He seemed to be on the verge of losing his control. Liam was slowly jerking him off, making Zayn’s toes curl.

The dark haired beauty was also losing control. His legs moved restlessly against him. Liam was tormenting him, making him crazed because he wouldn’t let him touch him the same way, although he could see he was as painfully as hard as him. His hand then moved between his thighs reaching to rub at his entrance. He almost came off the bed then. His touch was magical and demanding, and the sweet feeling of his dry fingers on his sensitive skin there made him shiver from the intensity of his excitement.

Zayn couldn’t remain passive any longer. He pulled his hand away from his and reached up to stroke the side of his face. His fingers slowly traced his mouth, then moved lower to caress his neck and shoulders. His body was absolutely perfect. His skin was hot, and He could feel the power of those hard muscles in his upper arms.

Liam looked into his eyes and lowered his head to kiss the lips tattooed on his chest, he kept looking at him while his lips took a south path. Tracing his happy trail until he reached his dick. It twitched as he felt his warm breath near the head, Liam pinned his hips to the bed so he won’t buckle up and so slowly lowered his head and took him inside his mouth.

Zayn couldn’t maintain the eye contact, he closed his eyes shut as a needy whine escape his mouth. Liam’s lips around him, his hot mouth engulfing him, and his wicked tongue tracing him. It was too much to bare.

He was getting closer to the edge real fast and he did not want to ruin this for them. He harshly tugged on Liam’s hair to pull him off of him.

 

Zayn reached and wrapped his hand around Liam when he would not listen … and nearly sent him right over the edge too. But Liam stopped his hand from rubbing him further.

 “Leeyum, if we keep this up, I’m gonna come too soon!” Zayn urgently breathed. “There’s lube and a condom box in the bathroom.” He added in subtle demand for Liam to hurry the fuck up.

“Fuck Zayn, I don’t think it’s gonna take long anyway…” he said as he hurried to fetch the things Zayn mentioned.

When he came back Zayn was lazily tugging on his hard on, lower lip chewed between his teeth. Liam watched him with fire in his eyes as he slowly reached the bed and put the stuff next to Zayn’s shiny body.

“Stop touching yourself babe…or it will be over soon!” Liam gently commanded.

With an immense effort Zayn slowly pulled his hands away.

“Then hurry up!” he demanded.

“Bossy!” Liam commented with a grin that Zayn mirrored.

Liam drenched his fingers with lube, and splitting Zayn’s knees to settle between them, he kept looking at his face as one hand pulled his thigh higher and the other reached to finger him. He started with one finger, Zayn gasped as he felt the slightly cool lubed finger breach him. Liam kissed the inside of his thigh for comfort. Once he felt Zayn was relaxed enough, he added another finger. Zayn’s right hand went to pull on his own hair and his left clenched the comforter with a death grip. He might come just from this! Liam started scissoring his hands to stretch him further and then he touched his sensitive spot, the spot that made him see stars. The pleasure was exquisite, consuming. His short nails dug into his lover’s shoulders and he cried out.

Liam’s control was in tatters now, and he was desperate to be inside Zayn’s velvet tightness.

“Liam …”

“It’s okay. I just need to make sure you can take me babe.” Liam said tightly as he added a third finger. He fucked him with the three digits for a while until Zayn was shamelessly begging him to hurry the fuck up.

He reached down and grabbed the box of condoms. Zayn rolled on top of him and was fervently kissing his shoulders while he fumbled to get to unwrap the condom. He finely opened it and gently rolled back until he scooted off him.

When he was ready, he grabbed Zayn’s hands, stretched his arms high above his head, and held him there. And then he once again began to make love to him with his mouth and his tongue to get him ready to the mating that’s about to come.

He pulled Zayn’s thighs up and made him circle his legs around his waist and intertwined his hands back with Zayn’s hands that were still sprawled above his head. He swallowed his groan as he penetrated him with one slow slide. Zayn arched his back and dug his heels on the low of his back.

Liam gave him a moment to get use to the feel of him inside him. A second later Zayn opened his eyes and bared his neck and urged Liam to move, Liam licked the few marks he left there and he retracted an inch before he pushed back in, the small breath that left Zayn when he did almost made him come too soon.

They built up a rhythm of their own, synchronizing their moves and it escalated quickly to a wild pace that turn their love making into animal sex, until Zayn was trying to escape his grip and reach for his cock. Liam shook his head and licked inside his mouth as he continued plummeting inside him, repeatedly assaulting his prostate dead on until Zayn was shaking his head from the overwhelming and electrifying arousal he was feeling. The first tremors of ecstasy caught him unaware. It should have ended there, but it didn’t. The pleasure was gathering, building, so intense he almost couldn’t bear it. He cried out and arched up against him, his toes curling and his eyes clinched close as he screamed his name. His dick twitching as it shot its release on his chest.

Liam’s control snapped. Zayn felt so wonderful he couldn’t make himself slow the pace. Zayn clenching around him repeatedly during and after his climax was his undoing. He thrust one last time inside him as he groaned his name and came shooting inside the confines of the condom.

Zayn thought he just might die from the sheer ecstasy shimmering through his nerves. Liam collapsed on top of him and buried his head in the crook of his neck. It took him several minutes to calm his laboured breathing. It had never been this good, no, not good, perfect before. Zayn had overwhelmed him, and he was staggered by his need for him.

He slowly regained enough strength to move. He lifted up and looked into his glazy eyes. “You okay?” His voice was no more than a raspy whisper.

Zayn was feeling emotional and still on cloud seven, he had never came from just being fucked before. He was still reeling from what had just happened. He’d read about it. He’d heard about it, but until tonight, he had never experienced it.

Amazing. There weren’t enough words to describe what had happened to him. He still felt a warm glow all over. Could he feel his heart pounding against his? Did he have any idea what he had done to him? He definitely broke him. He ruined him for anyone else. Zayn was sure no one would even compare to fucking with Liam fucking Payne.

“Zayn?”

“Yes, I’m okay.” That had to be a gross understatement.

Liam kissed him once hard then rolled away from him and went into the bathroom.

His abrupt departure startled him. He didn’t want him to leave, not just yet anyway. He wanted him to hold him in his arms and whisper all praises into his ear, he knew it was stupid but apparently he liked that.

He could feel the tears gathering in his eyes. Oh, God, not now. Don’t let me cry now. He took a deep breath, groaned, and then pulled the sheet up and rolled onto his stomach. His scent was on the pillow. He had the urge to pick up that pillow and bury his head under it. He couldn’t believe how vulnerable and self-conscious he was feeling. What was the matter with him? He was the one who had started this. What had he expected? This wasn’t a fairy tale.

Tonight was driven by lust, not love … for him, anyway. He groaned again. He wasn’t going to regret tonight. His heart was too weak to ever let it happen again, but he wouldn’t be sorry.

He didn’t hear Liam walk back into the bedroom. He felt him when he sat down on the bed beside him. “Move over,” he said.

Zayn rolled onto his side to face him just as he started wiping away the semen that covered his tummy and chest.

Zayn held his breath as he finished cleaning him up. “I thought you were getting dressed.”

“You didn’t notice my clothes are all over the floor?”

“No, I didn’t notice.”

Liam threw away the small wet towel. He stretched out beside him and pulled him inside his arms. “I should go.” He began to nuzzle his neck. “Yeah, I should go. How come you smell so good?”

“I shower.”

He laughed. Then he pinched his backside, and he yelped.

“How come you’re so soft?”

Zayn rolled his eyes and bit on his neck before answering. “I’m not soft, you are.”

Liam chuckled at his weak comeback.

Zayn couldn’t stop touching him. He loved the feel of his hard muscles beneath his fingertips. They glided over his shoulders and his chest. His body was warm and manly and sexy. He wrapped his arms around Liam’s waist and decided he was never going to let go. Liam was going to have to peel him off of him. That image made him smile.

“It was better than my fantasy,” he said.

“You’ve thought about it?”

“Oh, yeah. You did too.”

Zayn didn’t deny it. “Yes.”

“Was it as good as your fantasy?”

His voice dropped to a whisper. “It was … so-so.”

Liam laughed. Then he pushed him onto his back and leaned over him. “So-so?” he repeated.

He looked a little worried. Zayn realized then that there was a thread of insecurity hidden under all those layers of arrogance. Liam Payne was prideful and a perfectionist but how could he not know how much pleasure he had given him?

Zayn cupped the side of his face. “It was just perfect and you should have known, I’ve never come untouched before.”

Liam smiled and leaned down and kissed him. He thought it would be a see-you-later kind of kiss, but as soon as his mouth touched Zayn’s lips, everything changed. His tongue rubbed erotically against his sweet tongue. He kept telling himself he just wanted a little bit more and he’d be satisfied. How come he couldn’t get enough of him?

Zayn moved restlessly against him. “Li?” he whispered.

“You want to go again?”

Zayn’s eyes widened. He playfully punched him on his shoulders. “Go again? What kind of pillow talk is that?”

He didn’t know if he wanted to yell at him or laugh.

Then Liam grinned and laughter won out. “I can do pillow talk,” he boasted.

“Prove it.”

He got side tracked by the devilish way his pretty lips curled up into the breath-taking smile of his, and so he looked into his eyes. It seemed to hit him all at once, the reality of what had just happened. This beautiful, sweet, perfect creature had taken him to his bed and surrendered his body to him.

Zayn nudged him. “I’m waiting,” he whispered, and then he batted his surreal eyelashes at him.

Liam laughed again. “Okay. Here’s what I think we ought to do.” And then he explained in the most graphic detail how he wanted them to fuck, a dirty filthy scene that involved his handcuffs in the process. By the time he’d finished, Zayn’s cheeks were bright pink.

“What kind of men have you been hanging out with?” he asked.

“Gymnasts, dancers, acrobats. Why do you ask?” His hands moved down to his hips.

“Leeyum, what are you doing?” Zayn asked as he was messing with Liam’s short brown strands.

“It’s called multitasking. I’m talking and touching at the same time.”

“Smart mouth.” Zayn commented with a smile; glad with the feeling that Liam’s touch evoked.

Liam slowly moved down his body, and his mouth and tongue were driving him mad. “We could try something new,” he said. He kissed his navel and then whispered as he looked him dead in the eyes, “But why mess with perfection?”


	25. Chapter Twenty-Four

Liam wouldn’t spend the night. Zayn tried to entice him, but he couldn’t get him to change his mind. Liam was far more concerned about protecting Zayn’s good name than Zayn was. He put on a blue large t-shirt that didn’t even cover his knees and sat on the side of the bed while Liam got dressed.

Zayn’s legs distracted him from what he was doing. When he realized where his thoughts were taking him, he turned and walked into the living room.

“What’d I do with my phone?”

Zayn followed him. “It’s in your coat pocket.”

He turned around to tell him good night. Zayn stepped closer and buttoned his shirt for him while he clipped on his holster and flipped the leather snap in place over his gun.

He stretched up on tiptoes and kissed him just below the jaw, then he licked his cute birthmark. “Sleep over,” He whispered.

“No.” Liam gritted.

His harsh tone didn’t bother him because he was kissing the side of his neck while he refused him.

“Don’t you want to?”

“Of course I want to,” he said. “And if the circumstances were different, I would.”

His hands slid under his shirt. He couldn’t get enough of him. Not good, Liam told himself. He pulled his hands back. “The whole world is watching you, and I don’t want anyone talking …”

“The whole world? Surely not.” Zayn teased.

“You’ve got the police department, the security team, the hotel staff, and your brothers watching your every move. Did you forget there’s a policeman standing outside your door? I don’t want anyone speculating about you or gossiping or teasing …” Zayn was kissing his neck and tormenting him with his tongue. “Stop that.”

After giving the order, he put his hands on Zayn’s shoulders with the intent of making him step back. But, he pulled him up against him instead. He nuzzled his sweet smelling black hair.

“Am I the only one worried about your reputation?”

“Apparently so.”

He laughed. “Fuck babe, you’re sweet.”

He tilted his chin up and kissed him. If Zayn hadn’t been so hot, he might have been able to give him a quick good-bye kiss. Zayn wasn’t just sweet and sexy and hot, though. He was enthusiastic and demanding. He could turn him into Jell-O if he kept kissing without a hint of reservation. The little whimper he made in the back of his throat triggered a primitive response and awaken the beast inside him.

When he ended the kiss, Zayn collapsed against him.

What had happened to his self-restraint? His discipline? Zayn could turn him on faster than he could snap his fingers. Man oh man, He was getting to him, and he had to somehow put a stop to it. He was leaving, and nothing was going to change his mind.

“Listen, Zayn. This can’t happen again.”

He waited for an argument. He expected him to be upset. Their lovemaking had been pretty incredible, and he had the scratches on his shoulders where his nails had dug in to prove that it was perfect for him too.

“Yes, I know.”

“What?”

“I agree,” Zayn said. “It can’t happen again.”

A pang of disappointment went through him. “I’ve got to get out of here. Lock the door after me.”

His hand cupped the back of Zayn’s neck and he jerked him close so he could kiss him again.

And then he was gone. Zayn flipped the dead bolt in place and fell back against the door. Liam had clearly worn him out. He was still trembling. He dropped his shirt on his way back to bed. The sheets were still warm from the heat of their bodies. He wrapped himself in them and closed his eyes.

He was determined not to think about the future, but that was easier said than done. Tears streamed down his face. What an idiot he was. He was falling in love with him. No, he wasn’t falling, he was already in love with him. He would never have been able to let go the way Liam did tonight. He knew exactly when he realized it too. He and Henry had been sitting in the hotel bar watching as Kyle poured his heart out to Liam, and the compassion he’d seen in Liam’s eyes had been his undoing. Oh, yes, he’d known it for a while; he’d just been too stupid to admit it.

Besides his compassion, there were so many things Zayn loved about him. He was a man of honour and integrity. He’d figured that out after spending an hour with him. He was also dedicated to his job. He was fiercely loyal to those he cared about, and he had the most wonderful sense of humour.

He did have flaws, but at the moment Zayn could not remember any. He let out a loud groan. Don’t think about the future, He told himself. Don’t think about the day he leaves.

He couldn’t turn his mind off, and the more He told himself not to think about him, the more He did. Zayn buried his face in the pillow and cried until sleep came over him.

***

The very next day, Zayn decided it was a new day and he had a new attitude. While he showered and dressed, he gave himself a lecture. He was a big grown ass man; he could handle a broken heart. Sure he could. He would survive when Liam left, and he vowed he would never tell Liam how he felt about him.

Liam wasn’t outside his door. He’d already looked through the peephole. The same young policeman who’d come on duty when he and Liam had left for the country club last night was waiting for him instead. He hurried because he knew the policeman had to be exhausted. He’d just pulled on his jeans and slipped into his shoes when his phone rang. Niall was on the line. He told him he was in his office, but Zayn had already guessed that because he could hear the television blaring in the background.

“Want me to come up there after the game, or do you want to come down here?”

He didn’t ask what game because there was always some game playing.

“I’ll be right down,” Zayn promised.

“Harry’s here.”

“Is that a warning?”

“Maybe.” Niall said.

“Yeah, well, you need to warn him. Time has not softened my attitude, Niall. I’m still out for blood.”

Niall laughed. “I can’t wait to see that.”

The second he hung up the phone, he started sneezing. Maybe He was allergic to his brothers. The ridiculous thought made him laugh. He grabbed his keys, stuffed them into his pocket, and opened the door.

The policeman escorted him to his office. He tried to coax him into coming inside and relaxing on the sofa, but he refused. He’d been told to stand guard in the hall, and that’s what he was going to do.

He noticed the stack of mail on Henry’s desk as he walked past, but he didn’t take time to go through it. Henry would get to it tomorrow, and he’d let him know if there was anything that required his attention.

Harry was standing behind Zayn’s desk using his phone. He smiled and nodded when he saw him and then picked up a paper from a folder he’d spread open and began to read to whoever was on the line. He was wearing what he considered weekend or casual attire: a pair of khaki pants and a polo knit shirt. Harry worked out, and he had the muscles in his upper arms to prove it. He looked tired, though, but then he always did. Building an empire apparently required putting in a twenty-four-hour day.

Niall, on the other hand, didn’t look jet-lagged or tired at all. He was sitting on his sofa and was hunched over another file folder he’d spread on his coffee table.

“Hey, you,” Zayn called out.

Niall quickly stood and then stretched his arms over his shoulders. His clothing really was casual, an old pair of jeans and a well-worn blue rugby shirt.

Zayn crossed the office and hugged him. “I didn’t get to tell you last night how happy I am that you’re home.”

“Me too,” he said. “Unfortunately, I won’t be here long.”

He stepped back. “How long?”

“That depends.”

Harry distracted him when he came up behind him and put his arm around his shoulder.

“Are you doing okay?” he asked gently.

“Yes,” Zayn answered. He folded his arms across his chest and asked, “Are you ready to talk?”

“About what?” Harry asked evasively.

“Oh, please.”

“The stress is getting to you, isn’t it?” Niall said.

Before Zayn could answer, Niall turned to Harry and said, “I talked to a man with the police, a guy named Lewis, and he told me the investigation was progressing nicely.”

“Lewis doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” Harry said. “But the detective Lewis put in charge is good. Talk to him,” he suggested. “His name is John Wincott.”

“Don’t pester him,” Zayn said. “Let him do his job.”

His brothers stood side by side facing him, and as Zayn looked from one to the other, he suddenly realized how handsome they were. He’d never really noticed how much they looked alike. They also shared some of the same mannerisms. Like the frowns they were giving him now. Those were definitely identical.

“They don’t have anything yet, do they?” Niall asked.

Harry answered. “Talk to Wincott.”

Niall rubbed the back of his neck. “Okay, I will. Maybe we ought to hire more security, just until we leave.”

Zayn shook his head. “I’m tripping over security guards now. I don’t want you to hire more men. I mean it, Harry. Promise me.”

“I’m going to do what I think is necessary to keep you safe.” Harry retorted.

Niall agreed. “You’re our baby brother, and if we don’t look out for you, who will?”

“We know that under normal circumstances you can take care of yourself, but this isn’t a normal circumstance,” added Harry.

“I think he should hire more guards. For God’s sake, there’s a killer out there just waiting for the opportunity, and that’s why Harry and I …” Niall paused.

“Yes?” Zayn asked knowing too well what they’re going to suggest.

“We both thought you would be safe in Dublin.”

They were doing it again, ganging up on him. He couldn’t blame them. The tactic had always worked on him. They were used to wearing him down until he agreed to whatever it was they wanted. He wasn’t upset. In the past, he had always caved. But those days were over. His brothers just didn’t know it yet.

He couldn’t wait to enlighten them.

“You think I’ll be safer in Dublin?”

“Yes,” Niall said. “We’ll fly back together, and we’ll find a nice, safe, secluded place for you to stay.”

Zayn smiled. “And it will be safe because killers don’t get on planes. Is that what you think?”

“No need to be sarcastic, Zayn,” Niall said.

“Ni, why don’t you tell it like it is? You’ve already found that nice, safe, secluded place, haven’t you?”

“As a matter of fact, I have.”

“I’m not going.” Zayn said with finality.

Before he could argue, Zayn turned to Harry. “What made you think you had the right to get rid of my car?”

“Didn’t he buy you a BMW?”

“Stay out of this, Niall.”

“The only reason you kept that piece of junk was to irritate me. Isn’t that right?” Harry asked. Before Zayn could answer, he plunged ahead. “If you had had a new car when you left that seminar, you could have pushed the panic button on the key, and maybe, just maybe, someone would have come to your aid when that maniac was chasing you.”

“When I think what could have happened to you,” Niall said with a disapproving shake of his head. “You’ve got to know how important you are to us.”

“Running from him … look what you did to your knee,” Harry said.

“Are you suggesting I shouldn’t have run?”

“Don’t be a smart ass.” Niall said.

“You had surgery,” Harry reminded him. “And when did we find out about it?”

“After the fact,” Niall answered. He was getting angry now. “You should have told us.”

“It was a minor surgery,” Zayn said.

He walked over to the desk and leaned against it. “I didn’t want it to become a big production. I didn’t even tell Louis or Gigi.”

“We’re your family,” Niall said. “You should have told us.”

“Look, Zayn, I know you want to be independent, but you take it to the extreme.”

Niall dropped down on the sofa, but Harry continued to stand. He looked as if he wanted to tell him something but wasn’t sure how.

He sighed. Now Zayn was trying to read his mind. “About the car …” He began.

“We’re finished talking about the car,” Harry said.

There was a time that Zayn would have backed down. Not today.

“No, we aren’t. I’m only just getting started. I’ll admit that I was being childish. I kept the car because I knew it irritated you, so, yes, Harry, you were right about that. However, I don’t agree with or like what you did. You should have asked me before you had my car towed away.”

“You would have said no.”

“Harry, you had no right—” He began.

“I agree with Harry,” Niall said.

Zayn glared at him. “When don’t you agree with him?”

He looked shocked. Niall wasn’t used to Zayn arguing with him. “When I don’t agree with Harry, I tell him I don’t agree.”

“It’s done,” Harry said. “Let it go.”

“We’ve got some important things to discuss,” Niall added. “And I want to get to them.”

“Maybe we should go into the boardroom,” Harry suggested as he gathered the papers and slipped them back into the file folder.

“Do you want to have the annual meeting now? Are you prepared?”

Niall stood and walked forward. “Actually Harry and I already did that.”

He was furious. “When?”

“Early this morning. You’ve got so much on your mind that we didn’t think you would want to be bothered,” Niall said. “Everything we went over is in that black binder on your desk. Take your time looking it over.”

He didn’t say a word, but he was so angry with the two of them He thought steam might be coming out of his ears.

“Okay,” he said quietly.

Niall looked relieved. Then he asked, “Did you allocate funds?”

“Yes.”

“What’s my budget?”

“Same as last year.”

“No.”

“What do you mean, no?” Niall asked. “It’s done.”

“No, it isn’t done. We’re going to talk about this. I want to triple my budget.”

He was looking at Harry when he very calmly stated what he wanted. He shook his head. “That’s out of the question. We’ve already slotted money for most of the charities in the city because you wanted us to—”

“And because it was the right thing to do,” He interjected.

“Yes,” he agreed. “But we can’t do any more than that, at least not this fiscal year.”

“We have to think about the bottom line,” Niall said. “We’re trying to make a profit.”

“You are making a profit, Niall.”

“The budget’s set,” he said. “And we’ve got a new hotel going up.”

“Yes, I know,” He said. “In Dublin.”

“Yes, in Dublin,” he agreed. “But we’re just now finalizing plans for another one.”

“Oh? Where?”

“Sydney.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Now you do,” Niall said. “We’re hoping to break ground within six months. We’re on a tight schedule, and we’re really moving ahead on this one.”

“And did Danny vote for this?”

“Of course he did. You know him. As long as we don’t interfere with his racing, we can pretty much do what we want.”

Zayn picked up a pencil and began to twirl it between his fingers like a baton.

“I’m not a real important part of this organization, am I? Did either of you ever think to talk to me about this expansion?”

“No,” Niall said. “You’ve been under tremendous stress.”

“Yes, right. Stress.”

“What’s gotten into you?” Niall said. “I’ve never seen you so antagonistic.”

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.”

He waited for one of them to ask him what he had been thinking about, but neither one of them did. He wasn’t really sure Harry was even paying attention to the conversation. He seemed far more interested in the paper he was reading. The pencil twirling got away from his fingers, and the pencil went flying. It landed at Harry’s feet. Zayn immediately reached for another one.

As he turned, he spotted Henry. He was standing at his desk. What was he doing here on Sunday? He should be out, having some fun, He thought. And who was he talking to? He couldn’t quite see.

“Why are you so nervous today?” Niall asked.

“Why do you think I’m nervous?”

In answer, he looked at his hand. His pencil was blurry from speed. He made himself stop.

Harry picked up the pencil from the floor, handed it to him, and then pulled out the chair behind Zayn’s desk and sat down. He opened the folder and said, “Zayn, you need to look over these contracts Sam sent over.”

“For the new hotel?” He asked.

“Yes.”

“If our attorney sent over contracts, you two must have known about the expansion a long time ago. Odd that you never mentioned it to me.”

“Would you have been interested?” Niall asked.

“Yes, I would.”

He didn’t believe him. “There’s a basic difference between our philosophies,” he said. “Harry and I try to make money, and you try to give it all away.”

Zayn smiled. “Not all, Niall. Just some.”

His brother walked over to the credenza and poured himself a glass of water.

“I don’t know how it happened,” he said. “We grew up in the same house.”

“I knew I was different and I tried to be more like you, but I didn’t become a capitalist.”

“Right.”

“That’s what I’ve been thinking about,” He said. “And I’ve come to some startling realizations.”

“Like what?”

“I’ve always thought I had to earn your love. Silly, huh? I worried that if I didn’t please you and Harry, that you would stop loving me.”

“Where did you get that crazy idea?” Niall asked.

Harry answered the question. “Mother. When she was there, withholding affection was her way of manipulating us into doing what she wanted.”

Zayn turned to Harry. “She did that to you?”

He nodded. “She did it to all of us.”

“You don’t think we’re doing that to you, do you, Zayn?” Niall asked.

He sighed. “All I’m trying to say is that I’ve spent my life trying to please you, and it’s wearing me out. I grew up worrying that you’d stop loving me … but I don’t feel that way any longer. I’m your brother, and as far as I’m concerned, you have to love me no matter how angry I make you.”

Harry nodded. “Good. I’m glad you worked that out. Now will you look at these papers? I’ve got to get going.”

He turned to him. “I’m not finished yet. Harry, I’m sorry you got stuck with the job of being my parent, and I’m sorry you and Niall had to carry such a burden. I can’t change the fact that our mother didn’t like being a mother, but I want you to know how thankful I am that I had you.”

Tears gathered in his eyes. Niall noticed. “Ah, no. You’re getting all emotional on us, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am.”

“You know we love you,” Niall said.

“Yes.”

“Okay then. Let’s move on.”

Like Harry, Niall was uncomfortable showing any kind of emotion. “Okay,” He agreed. “About the meeting …”

“Yes?”

“Besides setting the budget for next year and agreeing to start another hotel, what else did you boys decide?”

“That’s about it.”

He started to reach for the papers Harry wanted him to read, but Niall stopped him when he said, “Actually, there was one other matter we discussed.”

He turned back. “Yes?”

“We talked to Sam about it, and he agreed,” he said. “I know you aren’t going to like this, but we decided to pay Emerson nuisance money to get rid of him.”

He jerked away from the desk. “No,” He said in a near shout.

“It was either that or give him the house,” Niall said. “And you know what that property is worth. Emerson’s agreed to get out by the end of next week. Then he’ll get a check.”

He shook his head. “No.”

“Zayn, it’s a done deal,” Harry said.

“How can you do this?” He cried out. “My God, he was cheating on our mother when he married her.”

Harry was suddenly angry. He stood, planted his hands on the desktop, and said, “And what do you think she was doing?”

He didn’t understand. “She was getting her heart broken.”

“Yeah, right.” The derision in Niall’s tone infuriated him.

“What does that mean?”

“Jeez, Zayn, grow up. Our mother was doing the same thing Emerson was. She was never faithful either.”

He shook his head. “You can’t know that.”

“Oh yes, I can,” Niall said.

“All those trips she took,” Harry said. “Did you think she went alone?”

“Come on, Zayn. You had to have known what was going on.”

He and Niall were suddenly shouting at each other while Harry patiently waited for the argument to end. Niall accused him of living in pretend land, and he finally conceded that he had wondered how his mother could fall in and out of love so easily.

“Love?” Niall scoffed at the notion. “Love didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“Mother always wanted what she couldn’t have.”

It suddenly dawned on him that he was screaming, giving both of them hell, and they were still there. No one was walking out on him. Harry looked as if he wanted to put a gag in his mouth though, but Zayn wasn’t intimidated … or worried.

“You need to grow up,” Niall said, his tone calmer now. “And face facts.”

“Acknowledging that our mother was a slut is growing up?”

He shrugged. “It’s facing reality.”

“All right,” Zayn said. “You both believe that since Mother slept around, it’s okay that Emerson did? Isn’t anyone faithful anymore? Don’t wedding vows mean anything, like now and forever?”

“Apparently not,” Niall shouted.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Harry snapped. “We’re getting rid of a problem.”

“The cheapest way we know how,” Niall said. He shoved his hands in his pockets and frowned at Zayn.

“And nothing I say will change your minds?”

Both of his brothers shook their heads. Then Niall said, “Sorry, Zayn, but we’ve got to play hardball on this one.”

He smiled. “Okay.”

Then they smiled … until he walked to the door.

“Wait,” Niall called out. “You forgot to sign the papers.”

Zayn pushed the doors open as he turned back. “You need my signature to go forward, and you know what? I need you to triple my budget for next year. When that happens, I’ll sign. And that, boys, is playing hardball.” Zayn said with a smile plastered on his lips.


	26. Chapter Twenty Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liam turned to him then. “Yes. I think he went there to kill you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!  
> I'm back!  
> So sorry to make you wait for an update; but this year has been...well not from the best!  
> I had some things that kept me busy... but I'll update hopefully from now on.  
> The story is coming to an end anyway.  
> Miss you all and really sorry!

“I’ve never heard you lose it like that before.” Henry made the comment, and from the look on his face, it was apparent he was impressed.

“I didn’t lose it. I simply stated my position.”

Henry spotted Niall walking toward them, and so he lowered his voice to a whisper. “Yes, but you were shouting when you were stating your position. Honest, I’ve never ever heard you raise your voice. Come to think of it, I’ve never heard Harry or Niall raise their voices either,” he said. “Except during football games. Niall yells at the television then.”

Henry hadn’t included his third brother, but then why would he? He barely knew him. Danny was never around. Henry had met him a couple of years ago, while he was still training, but he’d only seen him once since, at the dedication in Conrad Park that they had all attended.

Niall turned his attention when he walked past him. He tugged on a chunk of his hair and nodded to Henry.

Harry came out of his office a minute later. He stopped to talk to Henry. He noticed the article and the photo Henry had framed and hung on the wall.

“That’s nice,” he said. He started to walk away, then changed his mind. “You’re doing an excellent job here. Paul, my senior manager, keeps me informed,” he explained. “If you ever want a job making money instead of giving it away, come work for me.”

Henry smiled. “Thank you, sir, but I’m good here. Besides, someday this is all going to be mine.”

Harry laughed. “The hotel, or this office?”

“Stop recruiting him,” Zayn said.

Harry ignored him then. “If this is really what you want …”

“It is, sir. Besides, I could never work with …”

“The dragon? Isn’t that what you call Kevin?”

Henry didn’t seem embarrassed or look the least contrite. “Most of the time that’s what I call him, but I’ve also got a couple of other names for him.”

“Yes. I’ve heard about those too.”

“I appreciate your offer,” he said. “But I love what I’m doing, and like I said, I could never work with Kevin.”

“Apparently no one can.” He was looking at Zayn when he made that remark.

Zayn didn’t ask him what was that supposed to mean, if anything, he planned to do about his assistant because he might use that as a bargaining chip to get him to sign the papers. Zayn was happy, though, to know that he was aware he had a problem.

His brother nudged his shoulder as he walked by. “I left the papers on your desk. Sign them.”

“Triple my budget and I will.” Zayn retorted in a singsong.

“That’s not going to happen.”

As soon as Harry was out of earshot, Henry whispered, “He’s never going to go for triple. That was reaching.”

“I know he won’t. So we’ll negotiate, and we’ll get double, which is what we want.”

Henry shook his head. “Harry’s got to know what you’re up to.”

“Of course he knows,” Zayn said. “But he’ll still give in to us. At least I hope he will.”

“He acts like he doesn’t care about the job we do, but he does care, doesn’t he? It’s not just about a tax write-off.”

“No, he cares, and so does Niall. They’re just so busy building their empire, they don’t have time for anything else.” Zayn glanced around the office. “Henry, who were you talking to when I was inside with Niall and Harry?”

“Liam.”

“Liam was here?”

His reaction to the news was bizarre. He could feel his cheeks heating, and he hoped Henry wouldn’t notice. He tried to sound nonchalant when he asked, “Did Liam happen to overhear any of the conversation?”

Henry smiled. “Are you asking me if he heard you and Niall shouting?”

So much for trying to act nonchalant. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m asking.”

“I know he heard some of it because he started laughing,” he said. “But I don’t remember how much. Why? Is that important?”

Zayn shook his head and then decided to change the subject. “You know what? I should have talked to Harry about Kevin. He needs to know how much trouble he’s causing, and I want him to know I don’t like the way he blames you for his mistakes.”

“You heard Harry. He’s going to do something about him. I hope he follows Louis’ suggestion.”

“And that was?”

“Fire his ass.”

Zayn tried not to laugh. “Those were his exact words, weren’t they?”

“Yes.”

“Shame on him, corrupting a young, impressionable young man.”

Henry laughed. “I’ve heard worse.”

Zayn went back into his office and closed the doors. He was feeling horribly nervous and thought he would hide until he had rehearsed what he was going to say to Liam about last night. Maybe Liam wouldn’t bring it up. Then again, maybe he would, and Zayn wanted to be prepared.

He knew he was being foolish. He shouldn’t over think it. What happened last night wouldn’t happen again; they had agreed on that, and Liam surely wouldn’t mention it today. Besides, he was on duty. He probably wouldn’t even be thinking about it.

“I can do this,” he whispered.

He took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders, and opened the door again. He was going to find Liam and say hello. The sooner he got through the awkwardness of seeing him for the first time after … oh, God, he was doing it again. Getting all flustered and panicky. If this is what love felt like, he didn’t want any part of it. He certainly didn’t want the broken heart he knew was coming either, but he couldn’t do anything about that now, could he? He had no one to blame for that misery but himself. He ran to the trap knowing what it was, yet he did not care, did he?

He walked past Henry and said, “Go have some fun. It’s Sunday. The mail will be here tomorrow.”

“I’m leaving,” he promised. “I just want to do a little catch-up. I won’t stay long.”

Time to get the moment over with, he thought as he sauntered out into the hall. He stopped short. Harry and Liam were standing in front of Harry’s office at the end of the hallway. Harry was doing most of the talking, and Liam was nodding every now and then. Zayn stood there a long minute, waiting until they finished their conversation. He assumed Harry wanted the latest update on the investigation.

They both noticed his presence at the same time. Harry nodded, then walked around the corner to the elevators. Liam started toward him.

He looked wonderful. And sloppy, of course, but comfortable sloppy. He had a five o’clock shadow, so he hadn’t bothered to shave this morning. And did he ever comb his hair? No man should be allowed to be this sexy. Zayn swallowed and tried to block out the memories of last night. What was it he was going to say to him when he saw him? What had he come up with? He couldn’t remember. He had to look over his shoulder in order to concentrate.

“I thought you weren’t coming in today.”

Good. That worked. Zayn had sounded quite normal, and he was sure nothing of what he was feeling was showing on his face.

“I told you I was.”

Zayn nodded. Okay. The awkward moment was over. They were now having a normal conversation. He began to relax. Definitely okay. He wasn’t going to say anything about last night, and neither was he. He could stop worrying.

“Zayn?” Liam called his attention.

“Yes?”

“Did it feel good?”

Zayn was mortified to say the least. He knew his mouth dropped open. The question so shocked him. He couldn’t believe what he’d just asked, and so he made him repeat it.

“I asked you if it felt good.”

In seconds his face was burning with embarrassment. “Liam, I think it would be best if we didn’t discuss last night.” He sputtered in the most awkward way possible.

He laughed. “I was asking if it felt good to stand up for yourself with your brothers.”

“Oh.” Instantly flustered, he said, “Yes, of course it felt … wait a minute. You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

He pretended not to know what Zayn was talking about. “Did what?”

“Phrasing the question the way you did, asking if it felt good but not explaining … oh, never mind, you teaser!”

Liam loved how easily he could embarrass him. “So did it?”

Zayn sighed. “Yes. I think maybe fighting with my brothers occasionally is a nice outlet for all my pent-up nervous energy.”

He shook his head. “I think maybe we found a better outlet last night.” He grinned as Zayn hit him on the shoulder playfully but he added, “And I’m not going to ask you if that felt good. I know it did.”

Liam’s arrogance was totally out of control, and he certainly didn’t seem to need any confirmation from him. But then, why would he? Last night had been incredible. He didn’t need his approval to tell him so. He was there, after all. Oh, yes he was.

Zayn really needed to think about something else … anything else. He wanted to kiss him. He stepped back instead. “I think we should change the subject.”

“Yes, okay.”

“And please, stop looking at me that way,” he whispered.

“What way?”

“Like you’d like to find the nearest closet.”

“I wasn’t thinking closet. I was thinking—”

Zayn interrupted. “We are finished talking about this.” he crossed his arms. “Okay?”

Before the detective could argue, he asked, “What were you and Harry talking about?”

“I asked him if there were any grudges against your family, any disgruntled employees, any threats, lawsuits, et cetera. He said he’d already talked to Wincott about that, but he’d set it up for us to talk to your family attorney. I’m just trying to cover all the angles, and I want to know what the legal problems have been.”

“With my brothers?”

“And you.”

“Oh.” he was taken aback by that admission. “I doubt you’ll find anything.”

“I’m still going to talk to him.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Are you hungry? You want to get something to eat?”

The abrupt change in subjects jarred him. “Yes … okay.”

He walked around him and headed for the elevators. He caught up with him hurriedly. “By the way, the answer is yes.”

Zayn glanced at him in confusion. “What was the question?”

“You asked your brothers if anyone was ever faithful, and I’m telling you yes, some are.”

Zayn reached to push the button for the elevator. Liam grabbed his hand and forced him to look at him. “I’ve got a lot of examples,” he said softly. “But there’s only one you need to know about.”

“Oh? Who?”

“Me.”

Zayn’s heart skipped a beat. He didn’t know how to respond to that statement. “Why are you telling me this?” he asked in a choked voice.

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I just thought you ought to know that I’d be faithful.”

“If you ever married.”

“That’s right,” he replied. “If”

The conversation was cut short when his cell phone rang. Henry was calling, and he sounded frantic.

“Where are you?”

“Right down the hall. What’s going on?”

“You’ve got to get back here right away. You’ve got to see this.”

Liam had already turned around and was pulling Zayn along as he strode back to the offices.

“What’s wrong?”

He didn’t need to answer him because Henry was standing in the doorway, and as soon as he spotted Liam and Zayn coming around the corner, he blurted, “I opened this letter. It’s on our hotel stationery, and it came in one of our envelopes. You know what that means? He was here. He was in the hotel.”

Liam let go of his hand and went to the desk. Zayn touched Henry’s arm and said, “Take a deep breath.”

“Zayn, he was here.” He said with a hoarse voice laced with fear.

Zayn nodded. “Yes, I heard you. And he sent a letter?” he asked, but he was already walking over to his desk.

Zayn leaned against Liam and looked at the sheet of stationery Henry had put on the blotter. He’d placed a long silver letter opener on the edge of the paper to keep it from folding up again.

It wasn’t a letter, though. It was another murder list. This one had a different heading. “Our Murder List” was written on top of the paper, and the _Our_ was underlined several times. The killer had hand-printed this one. All of the names on the list were there, but lines had been drawn through Ms. Patsy’s name and Detective Sweeney’s. There were question marks next to Shields’s name and the references to the two bodyguards.

Another name had been added to the list. Harold Cross. On the bottom, just below his name, he’d written, “You owe me for this one too.”

Liam was on his cell phone dialling Wincott. While he was waiting for the detective to answer, he asked Zayn, “Did you know this man?”

Zayn didn’t pick up on the fact that he’d asked about the man in the past tense.

“No,” he said. “Liam, we have to warn him. Oh, dear God, the police need to find him before …”

Henry pointed to the paper. His voice was shaking when he said, “There’s a line through his name, Zayn, like he’s already … you know … killed him.”

“Henry, we cannot assume just because he’s put a line through his name that he’s dead. He might not have … Oh, God.” Zayn could feel the panic building inside. “There has to be time to save him.”

Wincott answered the phone, and Liam let go of Zayn and walked toward the hallway as he explained what Henry had found.

Zayn was feeling sick to his stomach. He leaned against Henry’s desk and stared at the wall. “I don’t understand,” he whispered. “Why would he send me this? And what in God’s name does he mean by ‘Our Murder List’?”

“Harold Cross. I swear I’ve heard that name before, but I can’t remember where.”

Liam ended the call and walked back into the office. “Wincott and Bradshaw are on their way over.”

“On Sunday?” Henry realized how foolish the question was as soon as the words were out of his mouth.

“John was at work, but Bradshaw was home.”

“Are they going to look for the man? Are they …”

Liam put his arm around him. “It’s too late.”

Zayn jerked away. His quick acceptance that the man was dead infuriated him. “You can’t know that. If they could just warn him … if they could find him and …”

Liam rubbed the knot in the back of his neck while he watched Zayn pace. “They know where he is.”

“Where?”

“In the morgue.”

“Oh, God.” He gasped in horror.

Zayn sagged against Liam, bowed his head, and closed his eyes. The detective wrapped his arms around him and held him close. Henry had all but fallen into his chair.

“How did he kill him?” he asked.

Liam was staring at the article on the wall behind Henry’s head. It all suddenly clicked. He didn’t answer Henry’s question, but said, “He was running on the path in—”

“Conrad Park,” Henry blurted. “That’s where I read the name. Zayn, don’t you remember? I told you about it. At least I think I told you.”

Liam walked over to read the article again. “You’re quoted here as saying you run there at least three nights a week.”

“Yes, I did.”

“But then the track was finished upstairs,” Henry said.

Liam got Wincott on the phone again. “Where are you?”

“Getting out of the car in front of the hotel.”

“What was the physical description of Harold Cross?”

“I’ve got some copies of the file with me, and I’ve got his photo. Hang on, Liam, I’ll be right there.”

Liam was too impatient to sit and wait. He paced the hall instead.

When Wincott jogged around the corner waving the file folder, Liam said, “Would you mistake Harold Cross for Zayn?”

“Oh, come on. I wouldn’t mistake any man for him.” He stopped, opened the folder, and held up Harold Cross’s photo. “Maybe from behind … the jet black hair, approximate height and weight. I guess it’s possible.”

“What’s possible?” Zayn asked. He was standing in the doorway, but he stepped back when Wincott and Liam walked in.

Wincott answered him. “Mistaken identity,” he said. “Where’s the letter?”

A couple of seconds later, he and Liam were staring at the list again.

Wincott read the list and the note out loud. “‘You owe me for this one too’? So he’s making Zayn take some of the responsibility, isn’t he?” Wincott said. “That’s what I think the note implies.”

“So, make the leap, John.”

“Okay,” Wincott answered. “He thinks Zayn should have been there instead of Harold.”

Liam nodded. Then Wincott asked, “You think he was waiting in the park for Zayn?”

“If he read the article in the paper, wouldn’t he assume Zayn still runs there?”

“Are you saying he killed that young man by mistake?” Zayn asked.

Liam turned to him then. “Yes. I think he went there to kill you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dadum!  
> Sorry for any mistakes...:/  
> Hope you enjoyed!


	27. Chapter Twenty Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I was wondering how Liam will feel when Danny hires someone to do a background check on him.”
> 
> His eyes widened. “He wouldn’t …”
> 
> Harry shrugged. “He hired someone to check out Dennis, and you weren’t serious about him.”
> 
> “Harry, he’s leaving.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello guys  
> I can't thank you enough for the lovely comments and the kudos.  
> I'm sorry I did not have time to reply to the comments but I read them all  
> So thanks and hope you enjoy!

The police had withheld important details about Harold Cross’s murder, and neither Liam nor Wincott wanted Zayn to know what those details were. He was already scared, and the autopsy report alone was enough to make a tough cop shudder.

 

Still, there was the possibility that one of those details might trigger a memory that could help them.

 

Wincott leaned against the office window, one ankle crossed over the other, with a bottle of water in one hand and the autopsy report in the other. Liam sat next to Zayn on the sofa. The latter couldn’t understand how the two of them could look so relaxed while they took turns relating some of the horrific facts of the poor man’s murder. When Liam told him what the killer had done to his legs, Zayn became nauseous and could feel the blood rushing from his head. He bet if he was in cartoon show his face would be green at this moment.

 

Liam noticed the way he was gripping his hands together and crack every knuckle in his fingers, a telltale sign that he was having trouble, and there were tears in his eyes, but he kept it together. Liam was proud of him, and had they been alone, he would have put his arms around him and told him so. Zayn wasn’t used to being exposed to gruesome murder details, heck some policeman still have a hard time keeping the food in their stomach after they see an investigation photograph of a body.

 

“You okay, Zayn? You want to take a minute?” Wincott asked.

 

“No, I’m fine,” he answered.

 

Liam opened the folder Wincott had dropped on the table and handed Zayn the photo of Harold Cross. Zayn was surprised at how peaceful the young man looked in death.

 

“Do you know him?”

 

He shook his head. “Was he a student at the university?”

 

“No,” Liam answered. “He’d already graduated.”

 

“He lived close to the campus,” Wincott explained. “And according to his friends, he regularly ran the park path.”

 

“Did he live alone?”

 

“No,” Wincott said. “He lived with a girlfriend. She was out of town visiting family the night he was murdered. Evidently he had told her he might also go home to visit his parents while she was gone, so she returned to London, and several days passed before anyone knew he was missing.”

 

Zayn took a couple of deep breaths before looking at the photo again. “I don’t understand. Why would he do that to his legs? Why …?”

 

When he suddenly stopped, Wincott said, “The coroner said his death was due to a blow to the head. Evidently this sicko went for the legs after he was already dead.”

 

“He fought him,” Liam said. “There was skin under his fingernails, so they have DNA.” He took the photo from Zayn and put it back in the folder.

 

Zayn thought Liam looked worried about him, and so he gave him a quick reassuring smile to let him know he was okay as he stood and went to the credenza to get some water.

 

“Liam?” Zayn held up the icy bottle.

 

“Yeah, sure.”

 

He handed him the water, got another one for himself, and then circled the sofa to go to his desk. Damn, he was feeling old and worn-out all of a sudden. He pulled his chair out and sat down. Maybe going to Dublin with Niall wasn’t such a bad idea after all. The change of scenery might do him some good. He sighed then. Even as the thought came into his mind, he rejected it. He wasn’t going to run away, and if he went to Dublin, that’s exactly what he would be doing.

 

He thought about calling Gigi and Louis. Talking to his friends always made him feel better, but if he let them see how upset he was, they’d become even more worried about him than they already were. And if the subject turned to Liam—which of course it would—he would definitely lose all composure. He was determined to outgrow his crybaby nickname. It was time to surpass this reputation.

 

Liam watched Zayn from the sofa. His eyes were sad and distant. He seemed pale and his brow was furrowed.

 

Lyle Bradshaw walked into the office. He looked as though he was on his way to a wedding, all dressed up in a dark pinstriped suit and a white shirt with French cuffs. His bold red tie provided the only spot of color. As usual, not a hair was out of place. In comparison, Liam looked as though he was getting ready to clean a garage.

 

Wincott observed from the other side of the room. Lyle was looking at Zayn, and Liam was looking at Lyle looking at Zayn, and from the expression on Liam’s face, he wasn’t happy.

 

“The letter and the envelope are on Henry’s desk,” Wincott said to break the staring contest.

 

“We aren’t going to find any of his fingerprints.” He made the comment on his way to the desk.

 

“You still have to bag it and get it to the lab,” Liam snapped.

 

Lyle didn’t seem to notice Liam’s hostile tone. Wincott did. He diffused the situation by taking the two men into the outer office to discuss the new developments in the case.

 

As soon as he was alone, Zayn switched on his computer and tried to answer a few of his e-mails. Anything to keep his mind occupied.

 

Henry poked his head in the door to say good-bye. Zayn suggested he take Monday off, but he wouldn’t hear of it. “What if another letter comes, or something else happens? I want to be here … you know, in case you need me.”

 

He was such a sweetheart. “Okay,” Zayn said. “But sleep in and come in late.”

 

“I’ll try,” he promised. He turned to leave and then said, “We can’t tell anyone about the new list or about the man.”

 

“I know that.”

 

“I was kind of surprised with everything happening and so many people involved that someone hasn’t leaked the story to the papers.”

 

“I don’t think any of the security force knows the particulars,” he commented.

 

“Gigi would kill both of us if another newspaper broke this story. Okay, I’m leaving. See you tomorrow.”

 

“Henry, be careful.”

 

The door had barely closed behind him before it was flung open again, and Harry came rushing into the room.

 

“Niall and I just heard about the letter. Liam told me about the man who was murdered. My God, Zayn that could have been you.”

 

“Yes, I know,” he said softly.

 

“Listen, Niall and I aren’t going anywhere until this lunatic is caught. Maybe I should call Danny and tell him to come home.”

 

“Oh, please, don’t do that. You know how he attracts attention. The press will be following him around, and if any of those reporters get wind of this …”

 

“All right,” he said.

 

“Make him stay away,” Zayn insisted. “I wish you and Niall would get as far away from me as possible, and I wish you’d take Louis and Gigi and Henry with you. None of you is safe as long as you’re around me. If anything ever happened to you or …” His voice broke.

 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he repeated, he placed his hand on his shoulder and squeezed it in a comforting manner. “And you need to stop worrying about us. You’ve got enough to think about, and you’ve got to stay strong.”

 

“I’m doing okay, and you don’t have to worry. I’m not going to crumble.”

 

They continued to talk for several more minutes. Harry paced around the room until he calmed down. He seemed to need his reassurance that he was well protected, that Liam and John would catch the lunatic, and that he would be okay.

 

Harry was walking toward the door when Zayn said, “A long time ago, you taught me that Styles face problems, and it’s time I face some of mine.”

 

“The police should handle …”

 

“I’m talking about our family and our business, Harry.”

 

He turned around and walked back to his desk. “Okay. It’s time you face what problems?”

 

“Letting you and Niall make decisions for me. That has to stop. What I do with the family funds is every bit as important as what you do. Investing those funds to make the world better is actually more important.”

 

He leaned against the desk and folded his arms across his chest. He knew his little brother was right.

 

“And one more thing …” Zayn continued. “Giving back to the community, taking on projects that make a difference … when you see where the money goes, it’s a reminder of why we’re here. The way I see it, it’s my job to help you boys stay on track.” he smiled as he added, “You might say I humanize you.”

 

He conceded. “Okay, we’ll increase your budget for next year. I can convince Niall and Danny to double it.”

 

“That’s good to hear,” Zayn said. “And I’ll do something for you. I’ll stop fighting you on a settlement for Emerson.”

 

He headed for the door. “Kevin’s taking a week off,” he said. “When he gets back, he’ll be looking for another position.”

 

Zayn tried not to cheer, but he was doing the victory dance in his head. Harry paused at the door and asked, “Is there anything else you want to talk about?”

 

“That’s it for now,” he replied with a small smile.

 

He wanted to tell him about Liam, but he didn’t. Why would he? It was just one night. Liam was making that perfectly clear. Just five more days and he’d never see him again … unless they caught the lunatic before then.

 

Zayn tried to fill those days with work to keep his mind occupied. Since their projects for the season had been completed, he and Henry continued to clean out old files and reorganize the office.

 

Each day, Liam came on duty as usual, but things weren’t the same as they had been. He was cordial and friendly, but he was keeping his distance. There was no more teasing, and he avoided any situation where they would get close to each other. When a discussion became too personal, he changed the subject. He was acting as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened between them. Did he already regret their night together? If Zayn had had the nerve, he would have asked him that very question.

 

Zayn wasn’t sure if he had caught a virus or if the stress had made him sick, but he started throwing up one evening after Liam walked him to his suite. He had a horrible night. By noon the following day, he was feeling better.

 

He met Harry late that afternoon to give him the signed contracts. He was waiting at a corner table in the atrium. Zayn ordered iced tea and sipped it while he half listened to him endlessly talk about the new hotel.

 

“Are you paying attention?”

 

“Not really.”

 

“Are you still sick?” He sounded suspicious, as though he were trying to pull a fast one by getting out of bed too soon.

 

“No, I’m fine.”

 

“According to Liam, you sure didn’t look fine last night.”

 

“Excuse me? How would he know what I looked like?”

 

Harry shrugged. “He heard you were sick. I’m not sure who told him,” He said, “but he came back to the hotel, and he spent the night.”

 

“In the hotel? Liam stayed in the hotel?”

 

“Didn’t I just say he did? He stayed in your suite. He slept on the sofa.”

 

Zayn’s eyebrows went up to his hair line. And all he could think about was how horrible he’d looked with his hair going in every direction and his pasty complexion. Had he been there when he was throwing up? Lovely, he thought.

 

“Harry, why did you let him see me looking half dead?”

 

He smiled. “I didn’t have much to say about it.”

 

Zayn decided to change the subject. “I ran into Paul. He told me he’s cutting back on his hours.”

 

Harry nodded. “He’s tired of so much traveling, and he needs to be home more with his family.”

 

“So you’re okay with his decision?”

 

“Yes. I told him he can have any job he wants. We don’t want to lose him.”

 

Zayn was handing the contracts to Harry when he looked up and saw Liam walking toward him. He stopped to talk to the officer assigned to him for the day to get a report. Zayn didn’t want him to catch him staring, and so he hastily turned around.

 

Now Harry was watching him like a hawk. His cell phone rang, but he ignored it.

 

“You should answer that.” Zayn pointed to his phone.

 

He picked up the phone, turned the power off, and then tucked it into his pocket.

 

“Did you want to tell me something?” Harry prodded, looking at him like he knew something.

 

Zayn bowed his head. “I did something stupid.” he made the confession in a whisper.

 

“What did you do?”

 

I fell in love. And how stupid was that? He didn’t say what he was thinking, though. “I’m tired, that’s all. I need a vacation.”

 

His brother was far more astute than he realized. He looked at Liam who couldn’t seem to take his eyes off Zayn, and then he looked at Zayn again.

 

The two of them looked miserable.

 

“He told me he’s going to join the Interpol.” Harry commented casually.

 

Startled, Zayn looked up. Harry was smiling. Zayn didn’t pretend not to know whom he was talking about. “Yes, he is. And what is so amusing?” he asked, frowning.

 

“I was wondering how Liam will feel when Danny hires someone to do a background check on him.”

 

His eyes widened. “He wouldn’t …”

 

Harry shrugged. “He hired someone to check out Dennis, and you weren’t serious about him.”

 

“Harry, he’s leaving.”

 

“Yes, I know.” He stood then and said, “Here he comes.”

 

Zayn practically overturned his chair when he bolted to his feet, and if Harry hadn’t grabbed his glass, it would have crashed to the floor.

Zayn took a breath, forced a smile on his face, and turned around. He was at it again, he thought, Liam was looking even more handsome than the last time he’d seen him. The man could clean up when he wanted to. He’d already proven that last Saturday night when he’d worn a tuxedo. He had on a navy blue blazer and khaki pants, and he was wearing loafers, not beat-up tennis shoes.

 

He couldn’t believe how rattled he was, and the detective hadn’t said a word to him.

 

Liam nodded to Harry and smiled at his younger brother. “You’re looking better today.” Zayn guessed the pleasantries were over when he turned to Harry, abruptly dismissing him. “Your attorney hasn’t called Gil Hutton back yet. He told me he’s left two messages for him. I think maybe you need to talk to him again.”

 

“I’ll get right on it,” he promised. “Sam was on vacation, but I was sure he’d be back by now.”

 

Zayn decided to go up to his office. Harry and Liam followed behind. “I want Gil to hear from him by tomorrow afternoon. If he doesn’t, I’m going over to his office and look through those files myself.”

 

“He’ll call.”

 

Zayn was holding the elevator for them. Liam stood in front of him on the way up to the third floor.

 

“I talked to Inspector Lewis this morning,” Harry said.

 

“That had to be fun,” Liam commented. “You’d better not mention my name, or it could be bad for Detective Wincott.”

 

“What does that mean?”

 

Liam explained. “It means that Lewis would ruin his chances for promotion if he found out I’m helping him.”

 

Harry nodded. “He’s not going to find out from any of us, and certainly not from Sam.”

 

“So I guess the Inspector doesn’t like you,” Zayn said.

 

When he didn’t answer him, he poked him in the back.

 

Liam flashed a grin, then reached behind him and grabbed his hand. When he realized what he’d done, Zayn immediately let go.

 

Harry pretended he didn’t notice. “From what I understand, they really don’t have any leads. He told me they’re looking at Peter Morrison.”

 

“That could be another dead end,” Zayn said.

 

“They’re not just looking at him,” Liam said. “They’re looking for him.”

 

“He’s hiding?” Zayn asked.

 

“Yes, but he can’t hide forever,” Liam said. “He’ll surface, and then they’ll get him.”

 

“But that could take forever.”

 

As it turned out, Morrison was apprehended one hour later.


	28. Chapter Twenty-Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zayn opened the door. “Remember, Liam, you’re moving forward.”
> 
> “That’s right. I am.”
> 
> “Then go.”
> 
> “If you’re ever in Paris, well …”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys! I don't know if you're still here, but here I come with another update!  
> Surprise!  
> Early Xmas presents XD kdg  
> I'm sorry for leaving you for too long...but life gets in the way of things XD  
> i hope you enjoy the double update (YES!)

Peter Morrison made two mistakes that sent him to his fall.

 

His first mistake was to give in to temptation. He walked into a bar in downtown London and started drinking hard liquor, and lots of it, which not only impaired his judgment but also gave him a false sense of security. The more he guzzled down, the more convinced he became that he was safe, and for the moment, untouchable.

 

The second mistake he made was to call Zayn Malik fucking Styles. It took him several tries, and by the time he finally got through to him, he had worked himself into a froth.

 

Zayn had told the operator to hold his calls and that he would be back in his office by three. Time got away from him, though, and when he and Liam reached his door, Detective Wincott was waiting. Zayn assumed he was there for him.

 

“Is there news?” he asked anxiously

 

The detective shook his head. “I’m just here to pick up Liam. We’ve got a thing to go to. Sort of a going-away party for Liam,” he explained.

 

Zayn noticed a policeman standing down the hall. His phone rang. Wincott was turning to leave, but Liam lingered. Zayn picked up the extension on Henry’s desk and answered. “Zayn Malik, how can I help you?”

 

“This is your last chance to do the right thing.”

 

The anger in the voice shocked him. The words were slurred, but he still understood what the other man on the line had said.

 

Liam saw the change in his expression, motioned to Wincott, and then went running to the other phone in his office so he could listen in.

 

“Who is this?” he demanded.

 

“Peter Morrison,” he answered. “Remember me?”

 

“Yes, I remember you.”

 

Wincott was moving away as he flipped his cell phone open.

 

“You’re a liar.” Morrison drew the words in a long whisper.

 

If Morrison wasn’t drunk, he was certainly well on his way, Zayn thought. He could hear glasses clinking, music pulsating, and voices mumbling in the background. He was sure he was calling him from a bar.

 

“I’m not lying. I remember you.”

 

“I meant what I said. This is your last chance.”

 

His voice was chilling now. He heard him swallow, then the sound of ice striking the glass again.

 

“My last chance?” he repeated.

 

“To save yourself.”

 

“I don’t understand.”

 

“I’m not going to keep chasing you. It took me precious weeks to get past your assistant and finally talk to you, and what good did it do me? You wouldn’t listen. You already had your mind made up. I told you that if we could only get together, sit down and talk, I could convince you. If you had just stopped and listened to me, none of this would have happened. You could have stopped it.”

 

“Stopped what?”

 

“You know what.”

 

He decided to pretend he knew what he was talking about. “All right. Tell me how I could have stopped it.”

 

Zayn looked at Liam. He nodded to him.

 

“I tried to get to you, but you left.”

 

“When? Where?”

 

“At Ian’s House.”

 

Zayn nearly dropped the phone. His breath caught in his throat. “You were there?”

 

“I just said I was.”

 

“Did you follow me?”

 

“No.”

 

“Then how did you know …?”

 

Impatient, he answered. “He told me.”

 

“Who? Who told you?”

 

“Kevin. He said his name was Kevin when he answered the phone. He told me where you were.”

 

Zayn was so stunned he fell back against the desk.

 

“Do you know how long I stood out there in the rain waiting for you to come outside?”

 

“No, I don’t know how long you waited.”

 

“I want the money,” he snarled. “And you owe me, now don’t you?”

 

“Why do I owe you?”

 

He didn’t answer him but said, “It’s gone too far. If you don’t give me the money, you’ll be sorry. You get it ready. You hear me? I want cash, not a check. We’ll meet tomorrow. I’ll let you know when and where.”

 

“And if I don’t have the money ready when you call?”

 

“Someone’s going to get hurt.” His words trailed off into a slurred mumble.

 

Zayn heard a crash, and then the line went dead. Liam was suddenly there by his side. He started to speak, but he put his hand up for silence and then nodded toward Wincott.

 

The detective had his back to them as he was talking on his cell phone, but when he turned around he had a big grin on his face.

 

“Yes, we got him.”

 

 

It was almost too easy. While Peter Morrison was shouting threats over the phone and sloshing his drink down his shirt, two policemen walked up behind him and grabbed him.

 

Morrison wasn’t too drunk to lawyer up. As soon as he was handcuffed and read his rights, he started screaming for an attorney.

 

He did a lot of talking about not talking to anyone about anything. A confession would have been nice, but they really didn’t need it. The evidence nailed him. Morrison, as it turned out, was a collector. Hidden behind a block of insulation in the attic of the run-down house he rented was a mildewed shoe box tied with a bright pink ribbon, and inside that box were his trophies, a bloody hammer with a workman’s initials burned into the handle, Harold Cross’s driver’s license, and Detective Sweeney’s wallet.

 

Commissioner Lewis was ecstatic. As far as he was concerned, it was an open-and-shut case. After hearing about the evidence, he insisted that he be the one to call Harry and give him the good news.

 

Wincott drove back to the hotel to tell Zayn what they’d found in Morrison’s house. He called Liam and asked him to meet him in the lobby.

 

Liam was in a mood. He had wanted to sit in on the interrogation with Morrison and his attorney, but Lewis wouldn’t let him get near him. Wincott didn’t think it was such a good idea either, considering Liam’s frame of mind.

 

Wincott was waiting for Liam in front of the elevators. “Are you finished packing, or have you even started yet?” he asked when he spotted Liam striding toward him.

 

“He didn’t confess, did he?”

 

“So I guess that’s a no on the packing?”

 

“Answer me, John,” he snapped.

 

“No, he didn’t confess. Swears he’s innocent. It was shocking. I’ve never heard any suspect say that.”

 

Liam ignored the snarky remark. The elevator doors opened, and he stepped back to let Wincott go in first.

 

“Where are all the security guards? I haven’t seen a single one since I walked into this building.”

 

“The extra men who were sent over from the security company are probably on other jobs now, and the regulars are just being more discreet. You know, blending in. Now that we’ve got our man—and we do have the right man—the hotel’s security staff doesn’t need to have such a loud presence.”

 

The doors opened on Zayn’s floor. “I don’t like this,” Liam muttered.

 

“I know. You wanted a confession, didn’t you? But you know what? If he had confessed, you still wouldn’t believe he was the right man for this.”

 

Liam shrugged. “You could have gotten me in there. All I wanted was to ask a couple of questions.”

 

Wincott shook his head. “We’re doing everything by the book, and that means no one is going to touch him.”

 

“And you think I would?”

 

Wincott smiled. “Of course you would. You’d have his face smashed into a wall the second he said his name. Face it, Liam. You’re too involved in this … personally involved.”

 

Liam didn’t like hearing that. “If I’m so damned personally involved, why did you ask me to meet you here?”

 

“Because I figured what you need is closure.”

 

Liam looked incredulous. “Closure? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

 

“I thought to myself that maybe, if you heard me telling Zayn about all the evidence we had and the motive and opportunity, well then, you’d be able to close the door on this investigation and move on.”

 

“It was too easy.” Liam said as he shook his head.

 

“Sometimes that’s just how it ends up. Easy.”

 

“The evidence …”

 

“I know. Someone else could have planted the evidence in Morrison’s attic. That’s what you were going to say, right?”

 

“That’s right.”

 

“Morris is good for this. Physically he’s big enough and strong enough to lift Sweeney and hang him the way he did, and he fits the description Zayn gave us.”

 

Liam knocked on her door. “Hundreds of men fit that description as well.”

 

Zayn opened the door, and in a flash, Liam took it all in. He was barefoot and wearing running shorts and a white tank top that showed a big part of his ribs and all his tattooed glory. He looked really good.

 

Wincott nodded to him and walked past.

 

“I just heard the news,” he said.

 

“Who told you?” Liam asked. For the first time in the last three weeks, he didn’t head for the comfortable sofa.

 

Zayn closed the door. “Lewis called and told me, and then Harry called. Why aren’t you smiling, Liam? Aren’t you happy about this?”

 

“He thinks it’s too easy,” Wincott said. He sat down in the easy chair and leaned forward.

 

Liam stood in the middle of the room with his hands in his pockets and frowned at him. “Listen, the results of the DNA aren’t in, I say we keep up the protection.”

 

“You aren’t convinced that Peter Morrison is the man who killed …?”

 

He stopped when Liam shook his head. “No, I’m not convinced.”

 

“He doesn’t want to be convinced.”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Liam asked.

 

“It means it’s crunch time.” He gave a barely perceptible nod toward Zayn.

 

Liam’s jaw was clenched tight as he glared at Wincott.

 

Zayn wasn’t certain what was going on. “John, do you think we have the right man?”

 

“Yes, I do. Evidence doesn’t lie.”

 

“Unless it’s planted.”

 

“A strand of Morrison’s hair was found embedded in the hammer.”

 

“Do you know how easy it would have been to plant that evidence? All someone had to do was take a hair from his brush,” he said as he slowly paced.

 

“He had a motive,” Wincott told Zayn. “He owed the wrong people a lot of money, and he was counting on the grant to bail him out. When you turned him down, he went after you. He admitted he went to Ian’s House and waited for you. The evidence is going to bury him. Morrison was desperate … and losing it. He picked up Zayn’s cell phone and that folder with his murder list and thought that maybe if he did something nice for him …”

 

“I’d give him the money? My God …” Zayn gasped hand on his mouth.

 

Wincott nodded. “I had a nice long talk with Kevin Milan. He admitted he told Morrison where to find you.”

 

“Did he know he was talking to Peter Morrison?” Zayn asked.

 

“Yes, but he claims he had no idea what he wanted,” Wincott answered. “He also admitted he’d gotten into your computer so he could read all your e-mails. He said he only did it so he could keep current.”

 

“I’m amazed he’d own up to that. He’s the one who printed the picture of Sweeney and put it on Harry’s desk. He also forwarded it to your other brothers.”

 

Wincott smiled. “The pair of handcuffs I pulled out made him real chatty. He suddenly wanted to cooperate.”

 

“Where is he now?” Liam asked.

 

“He was fired, of course,” Wincott said.

 

“Are you still convinced he killed Harold Cross because he thought it was me?”

 

“Yes,” Wincott said. “Like I said before, it was rainy and dark, and Cross was about your height, maybe a little taller, and had dark hair like yours. If he came up behind him, it would be an easy mistake to think he was you. And you let Morrison know where you would be,” he said. “You know, that article and photo from the paper Henry cut out and framed?”

 

Zayn nodded. He knew where John was headed.

 

“At the dedication, you said that you ran the jogging path every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. We believe Morrison read the article and went to Conrad Park to wait for you. I don’t think he went there to kill you. I think it just got out of hand. He probably wanted to convince you to give him the grant. He must have been shocked when he realized he’d grabbed the wrong man. Maybe that’s what triggered his rage.”

 

“You told me he fought him.”

 

“Yes,” Wincott said. “One of the workmen left his hammer. Morrison saw it, picked it up, and killed him.” He looked at Liam when he added, “But it’s finished now. When the DNA results come back, we’ll have enough to put Morris away for three lifetimes.”

 

He stood and offered Zayn his hand.

 

“John, I can’t thank you enough,” he said with a grateful smile.

 

“Things should wrap up fairly quickly. The prosecutor’s office will be in touch with you and let you know where things will go from here.” He glanced at Liam. “I should be going.”

 

Liam didn’t follow him. He pushed the door shut so he could have a moment of privacy with him. He needed to say his good-bye.

 

“Listen, Zayn …” he began, and then stopped. He was suddenly tongue-tied.

 

“Yes?” he looked into his eyes and waited.

 

“You knew I was going to leave.”

 

“Yes, I did.”

 

“Okay then. I’m going home to pack up, and then I’m driving to North.”

 

“To see your family?”

 

He nodded. He sounded resolute when he muttered, “That’s right.”

 

“And then the Interpol.”

 

“Right again. I’m moving forward.”

 

Did Liam know he was breaking his heart? “I understand.” He said against the lump in his throat.

 

“Look … I shouldn’t have …”

 

He wouldn’t let him finish. If he told him that they shouldn’t have slept together, he didn’t know what he would do. “I don’t have any regrets. You should go home now and pack.”

 

He leaned down and kissed his forehead. “Yeah, I should.”

 

Zayn opened the door. “Remember, Liam, you’re moving forward.”

 

“That’s right. I am.”

 

“Then go.”

 

“If you’re ever in Paris, well …”

 

***

 

Sometimes extraordinary things can happen on the most ordinary of days.

 

When Eric Gage opened his eyes early Saturday morning, he knew that today was going to be extraordinary. He couldn’t explain why, not yet anyway, but he believed that as the day progressed, he would come to understand.

 

Eric had learned not to question.

 

The answer came much quicker than he had anticipated. He got out of bed, put on his robe, and shuffled into the kitchen. He was standing at the sink pouring himself a glass of orange juice when he heard it. A whisper from behind. A hiss really, and though he tried, he couldn’t quite make out what the hiss was trying to tell him.

 

He didn’t look behind him. He didn’t need to, for he knew who was there in the kitchen with him. He closed his eyes and waited for the whisper to come again. Five minutes passed, then five more, and still the only sound he heard was the thunder of his heartbeat.

 

He began to doubt. Maybe he had imagined it. He decided to get on with his day and his chores. By 6a.m. he had dressed in his old work clothes and had driven to his neighbourhood coffee shop to buy an extra-large cup of caffeine.

 

By seven-thirty he had cleaned out the garage—a ritual he completed every Saturday—and had eaten his breakfast and prepared a tray for Noah. Then he showered and dressed in a brand-new black running suit with a narrow, white stripe down the outside of each leg. The lightweight jacket had a white cloverleaf logo on the breast pocket. The zippered pockets were the reason he’d purchased it.

 

There were two loaded guns in the bureau drawer. He put one in his right pocket. When he zipped the pocket closed, it was impossible to tell what was inside. He looked at himself in the mirror just to make sure. He worried he might need extra rounds, and so he opened the drawer and pulled out two more magazines and slipped those into his other pocket. He carried the second gun into the kitchen and laid it in the centre of the table.

 

He was ready now, but ready for what?

 

The familiar and terrifying anxiety was building inside him. His hands became stiff and icy cold, and he had trouble drawing a deep breath. He knew what was happening. The demon was taking control.

 

He tried to stop it. He sat down at the kitchen table and began to rock back and forth, back and forth, but he couldn’t sit long. He jumped up. Maybe it wasn’t too late to change the future … maybe, he thought, there could be a new beginning. The burst of optimism was gone in an instant. He was walking toward the back hall when he heard it again. The whisper was right behind him. He couldn’t escape. He knew that now.

 

“It’s time.”

 

“No,” he cried out.

 

“You know what you must do.”

 

He bowed his head and began to weep. “No, no, I can’t …”

 

The whisper turned into a scream. “You will do this.”

 

He stubbornly clung to the last threads of sanity. He squeezed his eyes shut and covered his ears in a weak attempt to block the terror from consuming him. “No, please, no, no,” he sobbed.

 

The rebellion was short-lived, and the demon won.

 

“Turn around and look at me. Open your eyes and look.”

 

He did as he was told, his movements wooden now. His acquiescence complete.

 

 

 

He stood there rigid as he waited for the demon’s next command. It wasn’t long in coming.

 

Noah’s eyes bored into his. “Kill him for me.”


	29. Chapter Twenty-eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neither Louis nor Gigi believed that nonsense—Zayn was crying because his heart was broken.
> 
> Louis handed him another tissue. “It’s going to be okay.”
> 
> The lie only made things worse. “I did the most horrible thing.  
> Louis and Gigi stepped closer. “What’d you do?” Louis whispered.
> 
> “I fell in love with him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go with a second update :)

Liam was trying to squeeze another suitcase into them of his car when a bright red old Mustang convertible in mint condition came roaring around the corner. Gil was behind the wheel. The top was down; the radio was blaring, and the five or six thin strands of hair on his head were blowing in the breeze.

 

He pulled up alongside Liam’s car, double-parked, and turned the radio and the motor off.

 

“Have you handed in your badge yet?” he shouted as he smoothed his hair down with the palm of his hand.

 

“Not yet,” Liam called back. He shut the trunk and walked around to the passenger side of Gil’s car. “I’m surprised you didn’t know that.”

 

“I did know that,” he said. “But things have a way of changing, and I was hoping you might change your mind.”

 

“It’s the Interpole, Gil.”

 

“You gave your word, huh?”

 

Liam shrugged. “Something like that.”

 

“You’re putting suitcases in your car. You’ve got to be leaving soon.”

 

Liam had the day off and was trying to cram as many things as he could into it so he wouldn’t have time to think about Zayn. He wasn’t going to admit that to Gil, though. It would be all over England by noon if he did, and so he said, “I’m just getting a head start.”

 

“What about your furniture and the other stuff in your apartment?”

 

“I’m taking my clothes and a couple of other things I want to keep, but the rest of the stuff is going to a friend.”

 

“What friend?”

 

Gil was as intrusive as ever, but Liam didn’t mind as long as the questions didn’t become too personal. “His name’s Henry. He’s moving into my apartment next week. You don’t know him.”

 

“He works for Zayn Malik, right?”

 

Liam laughed. “Is there anything you don’t know?”

 

“Yeah. Next week’s lottery numbers.” He looked up at the cloudy sky as he added, “And I don’t know if I’m going to make it home before the rain starts up again.”

 

“Was there a particular reason you stopped by?”

 

“I don’t have a cell phone.”

 

Liam nodded. “I know.”

 

“I don’t like them,” he said. “Needless expense now that I’m retired. If I did a lot of traveling, then it would make sense, but these days I rarely leave the neighbourhood. I can walk to my favourite bars and restaurants. Finnegan’s is just a block away from my house.”

 

“I’m not going to argue with you. If you don’t want to carry a cell phone, then don’t.”

 

“I tried calling your apartment, but you didn’t answer. Guess you were out here.”

 

“Guess I was.”

 

“I could have called your cell phone, but the rain had stopped, and so I decided to drive over to say hello. I heard Wincott and Bradshaw arrested Sweeney’s murderer.”

 

“That’s right.”

 

“I also heard you were giving them trouble. You thought maybe they had the wrong man. Is that true?”

 

“Yes, I did give them some trouble, but it didn’t make any difference. They’re convinced Morrison is their man.”

 

“The evidence backs them up.”

 

Liam nodded. Then Gil said, “I heard Wincott thought you were too close to it, if you know what I mean.”

 

“No, Gil. Explain it.” Now he was getting irritated by the old man.

 

Gil didn’t seem to notice. “You know, personally involved. So, were you?”

 

Liam didn’t answer. “Why all the questions?”

 

“I’m getting to it,” he said. “When I heard about the arrest and all the evidence they had, I thought that maybe you didn’t want me to keep looking into the Styles’s backgrounds, but then I thought, if Liam wanted me to stop looking, he would have called and told me so. You didn’t forget, did you?”

 

“No, I didn’t forget.”

 

“There’s nothing in Zayn’s background to raise a flag, but I figured you already knew that.”

 

Liam nodded. “Yes, I did. What about the brothers?”

 

“None of them have a criminal record, and none of them have ever been arrested.”

 

“I already know that, Gil.”

 

“Danny’s had some trouble. He’s the most well-known in the family because he’s a big-time race car driver. I hear he’s good too. Anyway, people know he’s got money. He doesn’t keep a low profile like the others, and you know how some people are. They see it; they want it. The money, I mean.”

 

“You said he had some trouble?”

 

“He’s had his share of mishaps, but there were only two bad accidents, one with fatalities. Danny wasn’t responsible for either one, though. He was luckier than some of the others because he walked away from both without a scratch. Now, the first accident happened up in Scotland. I couldn’t find anything there.”

 

“What about the other one?”

 

“That was the real bad one. It happened in Wales, but the man who the witnesses say caused the accident died at the scene. His insurance company settled with the families. Like the accident in Scotland, lots of people with injuries, some real, some bogus.”

 

“But Danny wasn’t responsible for that one either?” “No,” Gil said. “I’m waiting to hear back from the officer who was first on the scene. Maybe he can tell me something I don’t already know. After I talk to him, I’ll hunt you down … unless you want me to stop now. Do you?”

 

Liam’s answer was immediate. “No, don’t stop. Keep looking.” Gil took off a minute later, and Liam went back inside to finish up, but his mind wasn’t on what he was doing. He kept thinking about Zayn. Was he having trouble letting go? Was that why he wanted Gil to keep searching? Maybe if he had had an active role in the investigation, he wouldn’t feel so frustrated now.

 

He picked up a box and carried it down to the car. Why couldn’t he accept that they had arrested the right man? He sighed and shook his head. He knew why. Because it was just too fucking easy and his instinct was on alert.

 

***

 

Sunday turned out to be a miserable day for a race. The weather had gone from chilly and damp to beastly hot and damp. The air was as thick and humid as a rain forest which was unusual for spring time.

 

Gigi, Louis, and Zayn had been in the park for well over an hour, but had spent most of that time huddled together in a shelter, squeezed in like sardines with at least fifty other people while the rain poured down. There wasn’t any privacy, and it was too crowded to talk anyway.

 

As soon as the rain let up, they got into line to sign in and pick up their numbers.

 

Gigi had already told them her good news, but Louis and Zayn wanted to hear all the details again. Besides, they knew Gigi was dying to rehash her victory.

 

“Come on, Gigi. Start at the beginning,” Zayn said.

 

She didn’t have to be coaxed. “Okay. So after my article—my exceptionally well-written article—was in the paper, women started coming out of the woodwork. All of them are begging for a chance to testify against Shields. Unfortunately, we’ll never know if he had anything to do with Mary Coolidge’s death. There’s no hard evidence, but the prosecutor told me she has enough to put him in prison for a long time. She’s going after the bodyguards too and thinks she can convince a jury that they were conspirators in extortion and fraud.”

 

“What about the money?” Louis asked.

 

“After Shields is found guilty, and he will be,” she said, “Mary’s daughter will be getting what’s left of her mother’s money.”

 

“I’ll bet she’d rather have her mother back,” Louis said.

 

Zayn patted Gigi on the shoulder. “Gi, we’re so proud of you.”

 

“And we’re proud of you too, Zee,” Louis said. “Gigi and I haven’t slept for weeks worrying about you. You kept it together, though.”

 

“Not always,” Zayn said in a small voice. At one point he thought he was about to lose it.

 

“Now that the police have arrested the man who killed the detective and Harold Cross, are you able to get back to normal and breathe again?”

 

“How can things ever be normal? Because of me, two people are dead.” Zayn said, survivor’s guilt eating him up.

 

“You can’t blame yourself for Morrison’s actions. He’s obviously very disturbed. There was no way for anyone to predict that he would become violent.”

 

“Louis’s right,” Gigi said.

 

“We’ve heard all about the man they arrested, and we’ve heard all about the evidence and how they found it, but you haven’t said a word about Liam. Do you miss having him around?”

 

Zayn didn’t answer. He didn’t really need to. Tears were already gathering in his eyes.

 

Gigi handed him a tissue. “What happened?”

 

Zayn finally told them about the last time he’d seen Liam and how he’d said good-bye to him. When he finished, his friends were speechless for a good ten seconds or more. Then both of them exploded.

 

“He said what?” Gigi all but shouted the question.

 

“‘If you’re ever in Paris,’” Zayn repeated.

 

Louis was furious. “And that’s it? He didn’t say anything else?”

 

“Like what? Thanks for a good time?” he was crying now and strangers were noticing. One woman actually moved closer, no doubt so she could listen in on the conversation. She was staring too. Zayn turned his back on the nosy woman. He was embarrassed he couldn’t control his emotions. “My allergies are acting up today.”

 

Neither Louis nor Gigi believed that nonsense—Zayn was crying because his heart was broken.

 

Louis handed him another tissue. “It’s going to be okay.”

 

The lie only made things worse. “I did the most horrible thing.

Louis and Gigi stepped closer. “What’d you do?” Louis whispered.

 

“I fell in love with him.”

 

“We sort of thought you had,” Louis said sympathetically.

 

“Did you tell him?” Gigi asked.

 

“No.”

 

“It’s just as well.”

 

The woman standing behind Zayn was nodding in obvious agreement. Gigi decided to ignore her. “Since he’s leaving …”

 

“Come on, it’s our turn,” Louis said.

 

The line had been moving at a quick pace, and they had finally reached the sign-in table. A couple of minutes later they were helping one another pin their numbers on the back of their T-shirts.

 

Dark clouds were hanging over them as they made their way to the starting area. The streets surrounding the route were blocked off, and policemen were directing traffic.

 

The park was green and lush, the shrubs and bushes all overgrown, much like a wilderness, but paths had been cut out of the woods for biking and jogging. Several men and women were sitting on top of a stone wall alongside the trail while they waited for the race to start.

 

Louis was still fuming. “I can’t believe he said that. Are you sure, Zayn? ‘If you’re ever in Paris’? That’s how he said goodbye? Those were his exact words?” Too late, he realized he’d opened the floodgates again.

 

“Yes,” Zayn said through his tears.

 

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell him to stick it—”

 

“Lou, for heaven’s sake,” Gigi said.

 

“I really don’t want to talk about Liam anymore.” Zayn sniffed.

 

“Okay,” Gigi said.

 

“Not another word about him,” Louis promised.

 

“He isn’t my type anyway. He’s all wrong for me.”

 

“All wrong,” Gigi agreed.

 

“Why is he all wrong?” Louis asked.

 

“He’s a slob. That’s why. The man’s never quite put together.”

 

“He sure looked put together in that tuxedo at the country club,” Gigi commented.

 

“Not helping,” Louis whispered.

 

“Yes, he can pull it together when he wants to, but he prefers being a slob. He’s always forgetting to shave, and he never combs his hair.”

 

Tears were streaming down his face as he complained about him. He impatiently wiped them away and said, “How sad am I that I can only come up with superficial, unimportant criticisms that are really kind of sexy and endearing anyway? The truth is, I like that he doesn’t have everything tucked in all the time.”

 

Gigi handed him yet another tissue. Zayn thanked her and then said, “Liam has all the qualities that matter, like honour and integrity. He’s strong and brave …” he paused to dab at his eyes and then added, “He’s just about perfect.”

 

“No, he’s not,” Louis said. “If he were so perfect, why would he walk away from the best thing that will ever happen to him?”

 

“I don’t want to talk about him. I mean it. Not another word.”

 

“Okay,” Gigi said. “We’ll talk about something else.”

 

“If he can move forward, I certainly can,” Zayn said. “In fact, that’s exactly what I’m going to do. Move forward.”

 

“That’s great,” Louis said.

 

“Could we please change the subject?”

 

“We better,” Louis said. “We’re out of tissues.”

 

“And I’m finished crying over him.”

 

“That’s good to hear,” Gigi said.

 

“I think we should celebrate your promotion,” Zayn told Gigi.

 

“Let’s do dinner next week,” Louis suggested. “But before Thursday. I’m starting a new diet then.”

 

“Why Thursday?”

 

“It’s the day I chose, and I’ve circled it on my calendar. I’m psyching myself up. I start Thursday, no matter what.”

 

“Maybe we could do it Wednesday night,” Zayn said.

 

 “The flag’s going up,” Gigi said. “That’s the five-minute signal. I’m going to push my way up front. Are you going to run?” she asked Zayn.

 

“No, I’m walking. One mile up and one mile back, and then I’m done.”

 

“What about you, Louis?”

 

“I’m doing a one-mile combo. Walk and crawl.”

 

“I’ve decided I’m going to run, not walk,” Gigi said. “And I’m going the distance too. All six miles.”

 

Zayn smiled and Louis began to laugh. Their reaction didn’t sit well with Gigi.

 

“You don’t think I can do it, do you?”

 

“No, I don’t think you can,” Louis said.

 

“I know you can’t,” Zayn said. “Gigi, you’re not a runner.”

 

“I am now. Let’s meet at the finish line. See you there.”

 

They watched her squeeze her way through the throng oblivious of the glares as she pushed ahead.

 

“I’ll bet you ten pounds she doesn’t make it farther than a mile.”

 

“Half a mile and she’s finished,” Zayn said.

 

“Hey, look. That new frozen custard shop is open. See? Across the street. Maybe after, we could stop in.” And then he, too, blended into the crowd.

 

Zayn had looked across the street when Louis pointed out the custard shop, but his attention turned to a couple walking out the door. Both of them had ice-cream cones. They were holding hands as they strolled along. The woman was around twenty, and the man she was with was at least fifty.

 

“Another sleazebag,” Zayn muttered.

 

His reaction was instantaneous. He felt disgust. Then he shook his head. Harry was right. He really did need to get over this ridiculous obsession. Until he walked in their shoes, he couldn’t possibly know what their situation was or what was in their hearts.

 

Yes, it was definitely time for a change of attitude. He would start working on that right away. And yet, despite the best intentions, he couldn’t make himself stop watching the couple as they made their way across the street.

And that’s why he noticed him. He was a big, muscular man, and he was coming up fast behind the couple. He knocked the older man off his feet as he ran past. The young woman shouted something, but the runner never looked back. He was dressed for the race in a black running suit, but with the heat and the humidity, he thought it was odd that he was wearing a jacket. He also noticed he was carrying a pair of binoculars. The man quickly disappeared into the crowd.

 

Zayn jumped when the starting gun fired, then turned and joined the people moving onto the trail. He stayed at the back of the crowd and tried to avoid elbows as he walked along.

 

The rude man with the binoculars was nowhere in sight. He didn’t give him another thought. He wouldn’t let himself think about Liam either, but that was easier said than done.

***

 

Liam had kept his keys. Now, why had he done that? It wasn’t like him to be so forgetful and not realize he had them in his pocket. Maybe he’d kept them so he would have an excuse to go back to the hotel. That’s what the shrinks would tell him. His subconscious wanted to see him again.

 

And so did the rest of him.

 

Liam stayed up half the night thinking about his future. About three in the morning he finally figured it all out. His future was with Zayn … if he would have him. “Moving forward” took on a whole new meaning to him now. He didn’t want to go anywhere without him by his side.

 

He made a couple of decisions about the job too, and he felt pretty good about them, but he fell asleep thinking about Zayn and wondering how he would ever be able to convince him to love him.

 

The next morning, after he showered, he decided he ought to get cleaned up before he went to the hotel. He shaved and then put on a clean pair of jeans ripped around the knees. He opened one of the packed boxes and found a clean, though wrinkled, short-sleeve T-shirt and even took the time to tuck it in.

 

He happened to glance in the mirror while he was putting his gun in his holster and realized he should have gotten a haircut. His hair was sticking up all over the place. He shrugged. It was too late to do anything about it now anyway.

 

It was raining when he drove to the hotel. He was walking into the lobby when Gil caught up with him.

 

“What are you doing here?”

 

“Didn’t you hear me honking at you when you were crossing the intersection? I got caught at the light,” Gil panted.

 

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

 

“Liam, I might have something for you.” He glanced around and then said, “Maybe we ought to find someplace private.”

 

“I was just going up to Zayn’s office. We can talk there.”

 

He used Zayn’s key to get up to the third floor. Gil started explaining as soon as the elevator doors closed. “I finally heard back from that patrolman in wales, and he had some interesting news.”

 

The doors opened on the third floor, and both of them stepped into the corridor. It deserted.

 

“So what did he tell you?”

 

“The accident happened over a year ago, closer to two,” he said. “And it was bad, just like I told you. A five-car pileup. I was worried the patrolman wouldn’t remember much about it, but he told me it was so gruesome he’ll take the memory to his grave.

 

“There was this ten-mile stretch of two-lane highway. Danny Styles was driving a sports car, and the engine had a lot of power. Evidently he was passing this truck, and this late-model sedan pulls out behind him and follows him. A guy named Gage, Eric Gage, was driving, and his partner was in the passenger seat. Danny gets around the truck and back into his lane without any trouble at all, but Gage’s sedan didn’t quite make it. There are some conflicting reports. The patrolman said one witness swore the truck driver wouldn’t let the sedan in; that he deliberately sped up. There was another possibility that the sedan clipped the truck trying to get back in. Anyway, there was a terrible crash,” he explained.

 

Liam noticed Gil was talking faster and faster now, and his face was getting red. A knot was forming in Liam’s gut. He had a really bad feeling about what he was going to hear. “Go on,” he urged.

 

“The truck lost control, spun, and flipped. The sedan was crushed, but the driver, this Eric Gage, didn’t get so much as a bruise. His partner wasn’t so lucky. The patrolman said they had to pry him out of the passenger seat. He said it looked like the car had folded in on him. Sometimes he says he can still hear the screams. The young man was unconscious and barely hanging on by a thread. It was the husband who was screaming. The patrolman said he went crazy, pulling at his hair and sobbing that he should have let him drive like he wanted, and it should have been him in that seat. He got more and more out of control the longer it took to get his man out of the car. The paramedics had to sedate him, and because of his size, it took three men to strap him down to the stretcher. He was out of his head, all right,” Gil said. “And do you know what the patrolman told me he was trying to do?”

 

“What?”

 

“Get across that highway to Danny. He wanted to kill him. He was ranting about how Danny had been driving too fast, and that was why the truck veered.”

 

“But that wasn’t true?”

 

“Not according to the witnesses. The truck driver’s insurance company settled with the families.”

 

“How bad was Gage’s man?”

 

Gil was pulling slips of paper out of his pockets. He unfolded one and nodded. “His name was Noah, and he was all broken up, but his legs got the worst of it. The bones were crushed.”

 

“Ah, hell,” he whispered. “I knew it was too easy.” Here was the link.

 

He thought of Harold Cross and how his legs had been crushed with a hammer, and he knew it wasn’t a coincidence. He sprinted to Zayn’s office. He just wanted to see him, to know he was okay. Then he could calm down and call Wincott.

 

Gil was chasing him. “Wait. Don’t you want to know where Eric Gage is now?”

 

“He’s here, isn’t he, Gil? He’s in London.”

 

Gil nodded. Then he thrust the slip of paper at Liam. “Here’s his address.”

 

Liam grabbed the paper, opened the door, and rushed into Zayn’s office. It was empty. Panic like he’d never felt before took over him. He was reaching for the phone when he heard the fax machine humming.

 

He knew what it was before he looked. He dropped the phone and ran to the fax machine. He grabbed the paper before it slid into the tray. It was another murder list, but the heading was different. “My Murder List,” he’d written, and underneath there was just one name. “Zayn M. Styles.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys thank you for sticking with my fucked up non-existing updating schedule and all.  
> thank you so much for kudos and the comment.  
> so after I finish this I'm going to probably work on another fic but this time it's going to involve BTS. Because I'm getting more inspired by them now.  
> I do hope you check it out when I upload it after I finish this fic.  
> All the love <3

**Author's Note:**

> Your feedback is greatly appreciated ;) comment down there...  
> Recommend some Ziam fics to me Plz  
> Thank you for taking the time to read this shit.  
> Sorry for any mistakes


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